A Sheep in Wolves' Clothing
by RileyAngel
Summary: During the height of the Great Depression, Rachel Berry, unemployed and with limited options, made a desperate choice that brought her fame and fortune while forcing romance out of the equation. What would she do when the man of her dreams came along and she could neither encourage his feelings nor reciprocate her own?
1. Chapter 1

A Sheep in Wolves' Clothing.

During the height of the Great Depression, Rachel Berry, unemployed and with limited options, made a desperate choice that brought her fame and fortune while forcing romance out of the equation. What would she do when the man of her dreams came along and she could neither encourage his feelings nor reciprocate her own?

* * *

By now, everybody is familiar with "Victor/Victoria", Blake Edwards' 1982 film starring his wife, the legendary Julie Andrews. The plot was actually based on a lesser known movie from 1935, "First A Girl" (by Victor Saville), starring the lovely Jessie Matthews. For those who are unaware, Ms. Matthews was a huge star in England during the 1930's, often referred to as "The Dancing Divinity" (check her out on YouTube). Actually, that movie was, in fact, derived from a 1933 German production"Viktor und Viktoria", which was directed by Reinhold Schünzel and starring Renate Müller (yes, I know…"_who?_").

Considering that four of Shakespeare's plays feature women pretending to be men…which were actually men pretending to be women pretending to be men, this has been a recurring theme in literature and the theater, and will continue to be, as long as we find humor in dressing up like someone we are not and trying to convince the rest of the word otherwise.

In any case, the bare bones of the story aren't mine and the characters belong to Mr. Ryan Murphy, to whom we owe prodigious thanks. The back stories, any original characters, and variations on the theme are mine. If I accidentally selected the name of somebody out there, it's purely coincidental, and no harm is intended.

That being said, and knowing that the ultimate resolution of this story is a given, please keep in mind that it's not about the destination, but rather, the journey. Now, on with the show…

P.S. Please be patient…Puck/Noah doesn't show up for the first few chapters.

* * *

Chapter 1

"Thank you for auditioning, Miss Berry," the casting director dismissed her without so much as a glance in her direction.

It was early November, and Rachel Berry was cold, tired, and frustrated. It had always been her dream to appear on the Broadway stage; her father insisted that her education came first, and she reluctantly became the first person in her small family to obtain a college degree, graduating in the spring of 1928 at the top of her class. That fall, she became employed as a second grade teacher, a position she had held for the past five years. Whenever an opportunity caught her eye, she would hurry off after school to audition, never fully relinquishing her dream of being in the spotlight, much to her father's dismay.

* * *

Hiram Berry, nee Berdichevsky, was born in a small village on the outskirts of Kiev, Russia. From a young age, he had a natural talent with a needle and thread, and he was apprenticed to a local tailor. As he became a young man, his skills enabled him to fashion garments for both men and women, and his talents were not lost on the eligible young women of his community. He was tall, attractive, and affable, and his parents hoped he might select a wife from among his many admirers. However, he showed little interest in pursuing such a match, so a wife was selected for him.

Sophia Kalashnikova was a lovely young woman from a neighboring village with a voice that (so it was said) came straight from the angels. She was a dreamer with her head in the clouds, so, although she was quite attractive, she wasn't the most practical of women, making her less desirable to most men, who preferred a more down-to-earth (if less comely) life partner. Their parents came to an agreement, the banns were announced, and Hiram and Sophia were married (with little fanfare and to the great relief of their families) in the spring of 1904.

Russia in the early 20th Century was not the safest environment for the Jews, and like many young men and women, Hiram and Sophia packed up their few belongings and boarded a ship bound for the United States, the land of freedom and opportunity. They were the first in their families to leave for America and did so reluctantly (but hopefully), looking forward to the future of a better tomorrow.

Upon reaching Ellis Island, their name was Americanized to "Berry", and they settled in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, along with many other immigrants, all striving for a piece of the American Dream. Hiram began by working out of their tiny apartment, providing tailoring and alteration services as well as making dresses when requested. As it was in Russia, his work was well-regarded, and he soon caught the eye of Mr. Joseph Levine, a local merchant.

Mr. Levine owned a small dry-goods store and was looking to expand his business into ladies' garments. Hiram gratefully accepted the opportunity for additional work, as he and Sophia had found out that they were going to be parents. In April of 1907, they were blessed with a daughter, whom they named Rachel. She was the image of her mother, inheriting both her looks and her beautiful singing voice.

Sophia, always a dreamer, was bored keeping house and raising a family. Although she tended to Rachel's needs and never neglected her daughter, she was, at best, an indifferent mother. Added into the mix was the fact that her sex life with Hiram was almost non-existent, and she secretly believed that even if he had never acted upon it, he preferred the (sexual) company of other men over women.

As soon as Rachel was old enough, she accompanied her mother to the movies and the local Vaudeville houses, where they would sit in the cheapest seats, mesmerized by the performances. Rachel was captivated by the action and the music, by the pretty dresses that the ladies wore and even the reaction of the audience. Unfortunately, Rachel wasn't the only one who was entranced by the theatrical milieu.

In the summer of 1911, Hiram returned home to an empty apartment with a letter addressed to him propped up on the dining room table. In it, Sophia explained that he would find Rachel in the care Mrs. Goldberg, their upstairs neighbor, and she was leaving with one Johnny Corcoran, a (mediocre) song-and-dance man she had met at the Vaudeville theater on an occasion when she had not been accompanied by her daughter. He had praised her voice and promised her a career on the stage, and she was eager to leave her humdrum life behind. She encouraged Hiram to obtain a Get (**A.N**. a Jewish divorce) so he could move on with his life, and told him that although she loved Rachel, she knew that Hiram was by far the better parent. She had also enclosed a small broach that had been her mother's with instructions to give it to Rachel when she turned 18.

Surprisingly, Rachel adapted quickly to her motherless existence, and the woman was seldom, if ever, mentioned again. Mr. Levine's business thrived, and he invited Hiram to become his partner, opening up a women's clothing store "Levine and Berry". Business was good, and in 1918 Hiram was able to afford better living quarters than the Tenements provided, along with better opportunities for Rachel. Not only did she excel at school, her impressive vocal gifts were not lost on her classmates and teachers, and she was encouraged to participate in the choral and dramatic programs. Although Hiram was proud of her accomplishments, he was also concerned that she might follow her mother's lead and opt for a life on the stage instead of a more comfortable, commonplace existence as a Jewish wife and mother.

After World War I, it became more widely accepted for young women to pursue an education beyond high school. Hiram decided that a university degree would be just the thing to keep his daughter occupied with more practical endeavors, and she was enrolled in The College of the City of New York with the goal of becoming a teacher.

Upon gaining employment, and with her father's severe misgivings, she moved into a boarding house close to the school in which she taught. The tenants were an eclectic mix of primarily younger single people, several of whom were also teachers. The owner was a motherly widow who served Kosher meals with a side of gossip and a soupcon of (primarily) well-intentioned meddling. It was here that Rachel first met Kurt Hummel, who was employed as an art teacher at the same school and quickly became her close friend and confidant.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on one's perspective), one month into the fall semester of the 1933-34 school year, her teaching career was abruptly ended due to fallout from the Great Depression. Classes were doubled up and budgets slashed, and many teachers found themselves unceremoniously fired. It briefly crossed Rachel's mind that, of the seven teachers let go at her school, three of them were Jewish (and the only Jewish teachers employed there), two were of Italian descent, one had a distinctly Irish last name and a slight brogue, and one (Kurt) had decidedly effeminate mannerisms and never mentioned courting any women. However, she preferred to look on the bright side and focus all of her efforts on a career in the theater. It was of the utmost urgency that this occur as soon as possible, before her meager savings dried up and she was forced to move back home in disappointment and defeat.

* * *

Rachel stood on the stage, her head reeling at yet another rejection. If nothing else, she was going to leave understanding why she had been so summarily dismissed. "With all due respect, Sir," she politely (but firmly) spoke from her current vantage point, "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know why I'm not receiving a call back. Several of the others have been invited for a second audition, and I know my voice was as good, if not better than theirs."

The casting director was taken a bit aback; after all, the girls usually left wordlessly. Rachel had been polite rather than defensive in standing her ground, and he decided to provide the feedback she had requested…he just needed to find the right words. "You're right, Miss Berry, your voice is lovely, and you seem to have good stage presence. Unfortunately, you aren't the 'type' we're looking for."

Rachel felt confused; the majority of those invited back were not much taller than she was, and although a couple of them had blonde hair, three or four others were brunettes like her. "I don't understand, Sir," she respectfully replied. "Several of the girls were similar in stature to me, and also had dark hair."

The director rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, searching for the best way to explain. "Miss Berry, I don't quite know how else to put this, but…well, your look is just too 'specific'…"

"'Too specific'?" Rachel repeated (as calmly as she could), "Don't you mean 'too Jewish'? What about Fanny Brice and Vivienne Segal?"

The director looked at Rachel calmly, doing his best to be inoffensive, "My dear Miss Berry, Fanny Brice is known primarily as a comedienne, and you are far too pretty to be considered in that light. Vivienne Segal, on the other hand, isn't obviously 'ethnic', and most people aren't any the wiser. Please don't take any offense, Miss Berry, but have you considered rhinoplasty?"

Although highly offended by his implication, Rachel maintained her composure, simply answering, "Thank you for the suggestion, sir, but that would be out of the question."

The man cleared his throat before continuing, "Well, all I can tell you, and, please don't take this the wrong way, but the general public wouldn't pay to see a Jewish girl end up with the handsome, seemingly Christian leading man. I'd offer you a part in the chorus, but all of the girls are much taller, and you'd stand out like a sore thumb. I'm really sorry; you're a very talented young woman. I wish you the best of luck." He turned his focus to the man seated next to him, and Rachel, realizing that he had nothing further to share on the subject, retreated from the stage, gathered her belongings, and left the theater for her walk to the subway that would take her home for the night.

Regardless of her disappointment, Rachel understood his perspective on some level; much as her father would not want her to marry outside of her faith, she imagined that non-Jewish parents would be similarly upset at the same situation, no doubt turning an innocuous musical comedy into a divisive political statement that she had no desire to make.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Well…what do you think?

Regarding the names selected, they are not family names; at least, not my family. My maternal grandmother's family did come from Kiev, however.

If you're unfamiliar, Vivienne Segal was a musical comedy star of the 'teens – 40s. She was known for her lovely soprano voice, as well as her physical beauty. She appeared in several Rodgers and Hart shows; rumor has it that Lorenz Hart proposed to her, hoping that she would be able to "cure" his homosexuality. Although she loved him as a friend, fortunately, she was wise enough to turn him down.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Oh, my gosh, Kurt, I still can't believe he said that," Rachel concluded her story with a dejected sigh. "I don't know what I'm going to do. The rent is due, and I'm almost broke. If I have to, I guess I could sell my hair." Kurt gasped outright; Rachel had avoided bobbing her hair when it was all the rage, instead, opting to braid it and twist it into a chignon at the base of her neck. "Oh, dear; you can't do that, Rachel. Something will turn up," he replied, attempting to console her."

Rachel looked at Kurt, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Kurt," she disheartenedly repeated. "If I move back home, not only will my father insist on my working in the store, he'll consult with a shadchan to find me a 'suitable' husband." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief to catch the tears as they fell. "I want to _sing_, Kurt, not sell ladies' lingerie, and I want to find my own husband, not be stuck with some mieskeit of a mama's boy who doesn't have the chutzpa to find a woman on his own."

Kurt grinned at Rachel's turn of phrase. Although he wasn't Jewish, himself, he had been raised in Brooklyn and had heard enough Yiddish in his day to understand what she said without translation. "Rachel, I'm sure they would find you a good-looking man," he attempted to console her.

"That's not the point, Kurt," she corrected him, avowing, "I don't want my life all arranged for me. Women can vote, now; we're not chattel to be auctioned off to the highest bidder."

"Yes, yes; I know. 'Women's Suffrage', 19th Amendment; I went to college, too, you know." He smiled at her, continuing, "If it's that important to be independent, then we need to consider moving someplace less expensive." Rachel looked at him inquisitively, repeating "We?"

"Of course, Rachel, I'm in the same boat you are; don't forget, I'm out of work, too. Besides," he made eye contact, smiling warmly, "I can't let you go off by yourself, whether or not you can vote. We're in this together, don't you think?" He looked inquisitively at Rachel, who was drying her tears, her face brightened by his offer.

"What did you have in mind?" Rachel curiously questioned Kurt. "Well," he began, "I was down in 'the Village' the other day, and I ran into my friend, Elliot…" Rachel's perplexed expression stopped Kurt momentarily; "Is everything alright, Rachel?" he inquired.

"Kurt, by 'the Village', do you mean Greenwich Village?" she cautiously asked. "Yes, of course; why?" he quickly responded. "Isn't that full of Bohemians and degenerates?" she worriedly countered.

Kurt rolled his eyes before answering, "Bohemians, yes; degenerates…well, no more than anyplace else. Rachel, do you think _I'm_ a degenerate?" he queried, his face barely above a whisper. Rachel's eyes widened as she quickly answered, "No, of course not, Kurt. You're one of the kindest, most honorable people I know. I would _never_ think that of you."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Rachel, but that's not what I mean. Do you think I'm a degenerate because I…" Kurt dropped his voice to an actual whisper before continuing, "…prefer the company of men instead of women."

Rachel blushed and she averted her eyes momentarily before answering, "No, Kurt; I believe there's nothing immoral in two people loving each other." She looked Kurt directly in the eyes before confiding in the same whispered tone, "I've never told anybody, but I think my father is the same way. He has this friend, Mr Williams…LeRoy…he's a librarian, and he's a nice man. Anyway, they've been inseparable for years, and I reached the conclusion that if there's something 'more' than friendship, who am I to judge. I love them both, and I love you, too, Kurt Hummel."

"And I love you, Rachel Berry," Kurt tenderly avowed. "Now, as I was saying," he returned to the initial topic, "my friend, Elliot, just lost his roommates. He has a two-bedroom flat in Village…it's not huge, but we'd be able to afford it, and…"

"Wait, Kurt, two bedrooms?" Rachel interjected, face suddenly pale. "What exactly would the sleeping arrangements be?" she asked, concernedly. Kurt knew Rachel would not be pleased with his answer, but there was little he could do to cushion the blow: "We'd be bunking together, Rachel."

Rachel's cheeks flamed crimson, and she looked away in abject embarrassment. "I've never slept with a man, before, Kurt," she admitted quietly. Kurt had expected as much. Rachel seldom went out, and, although she never discussed it, he suspected that she was waiting until she married to lose her virginity.

"Don't worry, Rachel," he attempted to console her, "it'll be like sleeping in the same bed as your brother. I promise." He could see that she was still not swayed, so he continued, "Rachel, we'll be saving a lot of money. You know how hard it's been to find a job. This'll make everything a lot easier."

Rachel seemed to, if not relax, at least consider the proposition before her. "What about cooking, Kurt?" she pondered. "You know that I keep Kosher. That's how my Daddy raised me, and I wouldn't consider anything else."

"Elliot's a vegetarian, Rachel; there's nothing 'Kosher' or 'not Kosher' about that, is there?" She shook her head, the faintest of smiles beginning to break through her somber demeanor. Kurt felt a small ray of hope, continuing, "You know that doesn't matter to me either way, so if that's what it takes, consider it done."

Rachel emitted a small sigh of relief. "Well, our rent's paid through the end of the month," she noted, "so we have time to look at the place and get things in order." Kurt nodded in agreement, replying, "That's true. Thanksgiving will be over, and hopefully we'll have found gainful employment in the meantime."

As Rachel stood up, Kurt pulled her into a friendly embrace. "Don't worry, kiddo; things are bound to turn around sooner or later. Roosevelt's in office, 'The New Deal' is in place, and, no matter what, Wednesday night is always 'dish night' at the Roxy."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: A "shadchan" (guttural "ch") is a Jewish matchmaker. "Mieskeit" (pronounced mees-kite) is Yiddish for an extremely homely person. "Chutzpa" (again, guttural "ch") is difficult to translate from Yiddish in a few words; the best contemporary comparison would be "nerve" or "balls".

During the Depression, movie theaters hosted different kinds of promotions to draw people from their homes, where they could listen to the radio for free. There were contests and giveaways, the most famous of which was "dish night", where people would receive free dinnerware just for entering the theater (after paying their nickel for a ticket, of course).


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rachel and Kurt packed their clothes and gathered their few belongings, migrating to Greenwich Village on a crisp, cold December morning. Fall had not officially become winter, although the temperature indicated otherwise. Although the flat was small, it was pleasant and homey, with lots of natural light that almost compensated for the lack of space.

Kurt's friend Elliot Gilbert was a tall, good looking man, definitely more flamboyant than Kurt. He was a kind person with merry, twinkling eyes and an infectious laugh. He was also a talented musician; there was an old but well-maintained upright piano in one corner that Rachel's fingers fairly itched to play. She and Kurt were given the bigger of the two rooms since they were sharing, and they were both resolute in their desire to make the best of an unfortunate situation.

Elliot worked as a female impersonator in a club in the Village called "Madam Satan's", owned and run by one Santana Lopez, a beautiful if hard-boiled dame with a definite Sapphic side. It was previously a speakeasy, now a legitimate nightclub with the recent repeal of Prohibition. All of the wait staff, as well as the entertainers were (as Elliot referred to them) "gay" men. Madam Satan's was the one venue where homosexuals could openly interact with each other (behave like couples) without fear of reprisal and heterosexuals went to feel scandalous and slightly dangerous.

Each of the entertainers there was expected to take on a "female" persona. Elliot's alter ego, "Starchild", was a lanky chanteuse who sang torch songs a la Helen Morgan and Ruth Etting. Although Elliot offered to help Kurt devise his own feminine guise, he graciously declined, having no interest in cross-dressing. Instead, Kurt found employment there as a waiter, which, although did not match his salary as a teacher, at least enabled him to bring home a steady (albeit small) income and thusly contribute his share of the rent and household expenses.

Rachel attended every "cattle call" she could find, hoping to catch her big break (or any break, for that matter) in the theater. Unfortunately, there were far more unemployed actresses and singers than there were opportunities. She was hired part-time as a piano accompanist for a local dance school, where pushy "stage mothers" paid hard-earned nickels and dimes in the hope that their minimally talented progeny might be transformed into the next Baby Rose Marie or Jackie Cooper.

She offered her services as a piano teacher to the local merchants, engaging in a barter system in lieu of cash. As a result of her enterprise, she was able to bring home fresh fruit and vegetables and, on occasion, a chicken (the local Kosher butcher had five children).

Rachel spoke with her father weekly but visited seldom, especially during the cold weather. As long as he believed that she was safe, he was contented. After all, he had left his family behind and moved to a new continent; having a daughter across town was minor in comparison and something that, if he wasn't overjoyed with the arrangement, he was certainly amenable to it.

Being an actively contributing member to her unconventional household enabled Rachel to visit her father for Passover with her head held high, and, as such, he remained in the dark about her struggles (as well as her roommates, whom he assumed were also female). He felt satisfied that she was taking care of herself and thus did not insist that she move back home.

Unfortunately for Rachel, her luck deteriorated as winter transitioned into spring. Parents preferred their children be outside in the fresh air rather than cooped up indoors, even at the expense of "culture". The dance studio presented its final recital and closed until September, and her students left their musical endeavors behind for more athletic pursuits. Rachel had no savings to fall back on any longer and, although she loved her father, she steadfastly refused to move back home.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and with a heavy heart Rachel visited a wig maker who specialized in sheitels. Although out of fashion, Rachel prided herself on her lustrous, waist length dark hair. Heartbroken as she was, she shed nary a tear as her chignon was unpinned and unbraided and her beautiful hair was shorn to the nape of her neck. She was paid well for her sacrifice, enough to get by for a few months, and she took some comfort in the thought that she would be able to continue paying her way rather than relying on the kindness of her roommates.

Rachel donned an old cloche to cover her choppy haircut, returning home early enough that both men had not yet left for work. Entering unnoticed was virtually impossible, seeing as Kurt and Elliot were chatting in the living room with full access to the front door.

"Rachel, take that monstrosity off your head," Kurt insisted. "Nobody's worn a cloche since 'Black Tuesday'!" Rachel ducked her head slightly, steeling herself for the catty remarks likely to follow her reveal, and she slowly removed the offending chapeau. She raised her head sadly, exposing her remaining hair to her astounded roommates.

"Oooh, Rachel!" Kurt cried out. "You poor dearie. Come to Uncle Kurt," he stood, reaching his arms out to her as she fell into him, her body wracked with sobs. "Poor baby," he tried to console her, "You've gone from Ann Harding to Buster Crabbe." Kurt's weak attempt at a joke only caused Rachel, who was by now inconsolable, to cry even harder.

Fortunately, Elliot knew exactly what to do: he took a couple of towels from the linen closet and some beautician's scissors from the medicine cabinet. He gently extricated Rachel from Kurt's arms, leading her to a kitchen chair and seating her down. "Come now, Rachel; let's make the best of the situation," he pragmatically announced. "A little trim here and there, and you'll have a chic new look."

Rachel's crying abated somewhat as Elliot worked his "magic" and, before too long, Rachel was sporting a short, sleek hairdo similar to an Eton cut. Elliot presented her with a hand mirror; after checking her appearance, she again burst into tears.

"Don't you like it?" he tentatively queried, touching her arm gently. "It's a nice haircut, Elliot; thank you," Rachel replied, "It's just not something I would ever choose for myself. It's so…boyish." Tears turned to giggles as she checked out her reflection. "Oh my gosh, I look like a 12-year-old boy," she acknowledged as she continued reviewing her appearance, moving the mirror to capture different angles.

"You do at that, my dear," Kurt admitted. "Without any makeup, you could definitely pass," he observed teasingly.

An idea suddenly occurred to Elliot, and he interjected, "Rachel, my kid brother Archie's suit is here; I picked it up from the tailor and he hasn't come for it, yet. You simply _have_ to try it on."

"Don't be silly, Elliot; why would I want to wear your brother's suit?" Rachel countered, curiosity overtaking the despair in her expression.

"To see if you really do look like a 12-year-old boy or not, Rachel," he calmly replied. "Go on, what can it hurt?" he cajoled. Rachel thought about it momentarily, shrugged her shoulders, and acquiesced, "All right, where is it?"

Elliot bounded up, retrieving the garment from the closet nearest the front door. He handed it wordlessly to Rachel, who retrieved it, walking glumly into her room, closing the door after her. She emerged within 10 minutes, causing her roommates to break out in hysterical laughter.

"Oh, Rachel," Kurt gasped out between peals of laughter, "you should _see_ yourself. Go in the bathroom and take a look," he instructed. She complied, entering their shared bathroom, turning on the light, and was dumbfounded by the reflection she found in the mirror.

Rachel didn't know whether to laugh or cry; she still felt herself on the inside, but the mirror reflected a very different picture, that of a young man wearing a suit that was just a bit too big for him. Just as Kurt and Elliot began to regain their composure, she walked out into the main living space, barefoot and dressed in the boy's shirt and suit, and their hysterical laughter kicked in anew. "I don't see what's so funny, boys," Rachel pouted. "I'm going to put back on my dress, though; this is a bit much for me." As she turned toward the bedroom, there was a knock at the door, and, out of habit, she answered it.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Helen Morgan and Ruth Etting were famous singers of the era. Helen Morgan, the original "Julie LaVerne" in the first Broadway production of "Showboat", sang in speakeasies and nightclubs and appeared in several films, including "Showboat". Ruth Etting was another well-known performer, appearing in nightclubs, on stage, and on the radio. She introduced several songs that have escalated to "classic" status over the years, including "Ten Cents a Dance" and "Love Me or Leave Me".

Shirley Temple is not given as an example of a child star because this point in the story timeline takes place before she was well known, shortly before her breakout performance in "Stand Up and Cheer" (April 1934).

"Baby" Rose Marie was a prodigiously talented little girl who performed in Vaudeville, on the radio, and in a couple of movies. Today's audience will be more familiar with her as Rose Marie, a.k.a "Sally Rogers", the perennially single comedy writer on "The Dick VanDyke Show".

Jackie Cooper was one of the most famous child stars of the early talkie era. He played "Jackie" in the early "Our Gang" comedy shorts and appeared in many feature-length movies, including several with Wallace Beery, most notably "The Champ" and "Treasure Island". He successfully transitioned into teen and later, adult roles; in addition to directing; he may be best remembered by this generation as "Perry White" in the "Superman" films that starred Christopher Reeve.

A sheitel (pronounced shy-tell) is a wig that married Orthodox Jewish women wear as an act of modesty, concealing their "crowning glory" from all but their husbands.

"Black Tuesday" was the day the Stock Marked crashed: October 29, 1929.

Ann Harding was a well-known actress of the time, as famous for her talent and intelligence as she was for her long, blonde hair. The majority of actresses in the early 1930's wore their hair short, usually no longer than chin length, and she opted for a more classic chignon. Buster Crabbe (pronounced "crab") won a Gold Medal in the 1932 Olympic Games for swimming (400 meter freestyle), and shortly thereafter became an actor. He is most often remembered for portraying "Flash Gordon" in the movie serials in the mid-1930s.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Rachel opened the door to find an attractive young man, who flirtatiously greeted her "Well hello there, handsome!" She stepped aside, enabling him entry to the apartment, and he greeted Kurt and Elliot, "Hello, boys! Who's the chicken?" he teased, nodding at Rachel, who was too startled to speak.

While Elliot turned his back from the man to stifle his laughter, Kurt regained his composure enough to reply, "Hi, Sebastian. I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, R…ah…R…uben, yes, Ruben Berry. Ruben, say 'hello' to Sebastian Smythe, the maître d' at 'Madam Satan's'."

Sebastian took Rachel's hand between both of his and held it for a moment, commenting with a sly smile, "My, my, aren't you a handsome little fellow." He focused his attention on Kurt, remarking, "He's a pretty one, Kurtie, but isn't he a bit young?" Kurt thought briefly before responding, "He's 26, same as me. He…um…he had Rheumatic Fever when he was a kid and it stunted his growth." Rachel stared incredulously at Kurt; her eyes looked as though they would pop out of their sockets. Luckily, Sebastian was focused on Kurt and didn't notice.

"Please have a seat, Seb," Elliot invited, displaying more self-control that belied his recent mirth. Sebastian joined the men in the living room, while Rachel remained at the door, frozen in place with utter astonishment.

Kurt looked back at Rachel, and, wanting to see how far their charade would go before having to confess the truth, called out, "Come on, sweetie," as he patted the cushion next to him on the sofa. Rachel, almost somnambulistic in her actions, numbly walked over to the sofa and sat down, only to have Kurt put his arm around her and pull her close, kissing her on the temple.

"So, tell me, boys, where did you two meet?" Sebastian asked, his attention focused on the "happy couple". Rachel squirmed uncomfortably, unsure not only of what to say, but how. After all, her voice would be a dead giveaway that she was not of the male persuasion. Luckily, Kurt, ever glib, kept up his end of the conversation. "Ra…um…Ruben and I were teachers at the same school; he was the music teacher and I was the art teacher," Kurt explained, nobly keeping a straight face throughout.

"Music teacher?" Sebastian repeated, immediately inquiring, "Honey, can you sing, too?" Rachel woodenly nodded her head. "Kurtie, if he sings as good as he looks, I'll bet Santana would hire him on the spot. She's looking for a new canary, ever since that 'Unique' got '86'ed' by his old man." Sebastian looked up, disbelief on his face as he continued, "Can you believe that 'red hot mama' was only 16?" Kurt shook his head in mock disbelief; he realized that baby face and lack of facial hair didn't mean that the guy was lucky in his chosen profession, but, rather, that he was probably too young to grow a beard.

"Come on, kiddo; let's see what you've got," Sebastian turned his attention to Rachel. "Well...um…" Rachel stammered, attempting to sound as male as possible. Kurt noticed her discomfort and took over, instructing, "Elliot, would you mind 'tickling the ivories'?"

Elliot grinned slyly as he stood up and walked over to the piano, taking a seat on the bench. Kurt nudged Rachel to get up, and she joined Elliot at the piano, trying to remain composed. "Why don't you sing the same thing as the other night?" Kurt asked, looking at Rachel knowingly. "Just remember to 'sing like a girl' this time," he reminded her with a wink.

Elliot played the introduction to "Someone to Watch Over Me", and Rachel joined in, giving the piece her "all". When she was done, Sebastian gave her a standing ovation. "Bravo!...Or, should I say 'Brav_a_'!" He turned slightly to face Kurt, admonishing him, "Kurtie, you simply must bring him in to audition for Santana. I'm gonna tell her as soon as I see her tonight. This one," he nodded toward Rachel, "will be a definite show-stopper." He glanced at his watch and excused himself, "Well, ladies, I must be off. It was a pleasure meeting you, 'chicken'…or should I say… '_songbird'_?"

A barely-smiling Rachel nodded mechanically, clearly at a loss for words. As soon as Sebastian had left the apartment, Kurt and Elliot broke down in hysterical laughter. "I don't know what's so funny," Rachel pouted, "he thought I was a boy, and neither of you said anything to correct him!" Merely glancing in Rachel's direction caused another outburst of hilarity from the two young men. She stood there, arms folded, looking at her roommates with a mixture of disdain and sadness and began crying again.

"You don't understand," she sobbed, "I've lost my hair, I'm practically broke, and, to top it all off, I look like a boy." Rachel's crying ensued as Kurt came to her, pulling her into a platonic embrace. "Your hair will grow back, Rachel," he placated her, "and you have some money to tide yourself over…"

"But, what'll I do, Kurt? That won't last long," she lamented. Elliot, who had been silent, had been ruminating over the events of the past hour. "I have a brilliant idea!" he announced. "Why don't we do what Smythe suggested; bring Rachel to the club as a man, and let her perform dressed as a woman." Astonishment was mirrored on both Rachel's and Kurt's faces as they stared at Elliot as if he had just lost his mind.

"Hear me out," Elliot requested. "You need to earn some money, right?" he asked, and Rachel reluctantly nodded her head in agreement. "And you wanna be an actress, right?" he queried, resulting in another nod. "Consider this your first acting job; you're pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. You get to dress up and sing for an audience. You'll be paid for performing. As long as we keep your real gender under wraps, who'll be the wiser?"

"I don't think I can pull it off, Elliot," Rachel replied. "In the first place, I don't have an 'Adam's apple'," she countered, pointing at her neck.

"My _dear_, a drag queen's best friend is a choker; it helps maintain the illusion that we don't have one, and it will do the same for you in reverse," Elliot explained. "But what about the rest of the time?" Rachel asked. "After all, I'd have to wear street clothes, too; otherwise, I might as well just be a woman…what am I saying; I _am_ a woman!"

Kurt and Elliot gave each other knowing looks, as they could see that Rachel wasn't as adverse to the idea as she'd first let on. "I know…" Kurt interjected as he formulated a picture in his mind, "You could wear an ascot. It's very 'Continental' and a little flamboyant; let's face it, that's what people expect of us, anyway."

Rachel had stopped crying and, although still disconcerted, wasn't completely disregarding their idea. "What would I wear?" she inquired, giving the first indication that she was actually considering their proposition. "After all, I have women's clothes. I don't even own a pair of trousers. And I certainly don't have anything appropriate for performing."

"Leave that to me," Elliot volunteered. "My kid brother just went through a growth spurt, and judging by how this suit fits, his old clothes should be about perfect." Elliot appeared to be mulling something over before he spoke again, remarking, "As for your costumes, I have a few that I don't wear any more; a little too 'flaming youth' for today's fashions." He looked at Rachel before continuing, "Don't worry, kiddo; they'll be a lot longer on you; with a few alterations, we'll turn you into a regular 'bombshell'."

Rachel smiled shyly; she had never remotely considered herself a "bombshell", and the thought appealed to her, regardless of the circumstances. "Oh, and Rachel," Eliot added as an afterthought, "I want you to start exercising with some light barbells." Rachel looked disconcertedly at him, to which he clarified, "You'll be more convincing as a man if your arms have some muscle definition. Don't worry, I'll show you what to do, and you won't wind up like 'Charles Atlas', I promise."

"What about my hair?" Rachel wondered out loud. Kurt glanced sidewise at her, index finger tapping at his jaw line. "Hmm…I'm seeing something demure and fluffy, maybe like Ruby Keeler _à la_ '42nd Street'," Kurt proposed. "Elliot, what do you think?"

Elliot looked thoughtfully at Rachel, questioning, "Don't you think that's a little, oh, 'last year'?" Kurt pondered momentarily before replying, "Maybe so, but I think it would suit her…" Both men circled around Rachel, sizing her up and down while she did her best to suppress a giggle. Elliot finally conceded, "I think you're right, Kurt. There's a shop where we buy our wigs; after I pick up some of my brother's clothes, Rachel can change, and we'll go down there." He looked at Rachel pointedly, remarking, "If you're gonna do this, you may as well keep up appearances from the start. Congratulations, Rachel; in the words of your people, 'today, you are a man'."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: "Chicken" was slang for a young man, usually a young gay man.

Yes, I know that Rachel wasn't the music teacher. Kurt is "bending the truth" a bit. ;-)

"Someone to Watch Over Me", music by George Gershwin and lyrics by Ira Gershwin, was introduced in the 1924 musical comedy "Oh, Kay!" by Gertrude Lawrence.

Charles Atlas was one of the first proponents of body building. He developed a series of exercises that was marketed as the "Dynamic Tension" program.

"42nd Street" was an early Warner Brothers musical (1933) made famous by Busby Berkley's elaborate production numbers and its backstage plot. Ruby Keeler played "Peggy Sawyer", the demure ingénue who stepped in at the last minute, saving the show as well as cementing her place in cinema history.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Over the course of the next two weeks, Rachel learned that there were more differences between men and women than just their genitalia.

* * *

"No, Rachel, you're still walking like a woman," Elliot coached her. "I _am_ a woman; I can't _help_ how I walk," an increasingly frustrated Rachel retorted. "Let me explain, again," he patiently replied. "A man does not walk gracefully; a man has a bit of a swagger in his step. A man's bearing exudes confidence, not a gentle, demure nature." Elliot smiled at Rachel, continuing, "You're a beautiful woman, Rachel," to which Rachel blushed, smiled modestly, and softly replied, "thank you, Elliot." He then continued, "I'm asking you to forget that; whenever you're 'Ruben', you need to act the part, or you'll never get past Santana. She has a sixth sense about people, and she can smell a phony from a mile away."

Rachel smiled, if a bit shakily, pulled her shoulders back, and sauntered into the room, head held high and eyes forward. "Much better, Rachel," Elliot commented, "Why don't we sit down for a minute?" The two friends sat down on the sofa, Kurt observing from the Morris chair all the while.

"No, _no_, Rachel, men don't cross their legs…" Rachel looked confusedly at Kurt, who was sitting with his legs crossed. He rolled his eyes, explaining with an exasperated sigh, "Yes, I know that I do sometimes, but on you, it's a _dead giveaway_…no, not the ankles, either…" he corrected her as she sat, poised and ladylike, staring daggers at her friend-turned-mentor. "Really, Rachel," he stopped, taking a deep breath to regain his composure, "can't you just sit with your feet on the floor?"

And so it went, as Rachel was groomed for her first "starring role". The money she had been paid for her hair enabled her to contribute to the household, and she was able to focus on her upcoming "performance" By the end, at least in the eyes of her roommates, she was ready for "opening night"…or, in this case, afternoon.

* * *

The day had dawned, and Rachel was dressed and ready to go. Instead of donating his brother's clothes to the Salvation Army (per his mother's instructions), Elliot appropriated them for Rachel. A few minor alterations, a little extra padding in the shoulders, and, _voilà_, Rachel had a "new" wardrobe for her "new" persona. Kurt went to a boys' clothing store, purchasing some tank-styled undershirts and stockings and a pair of serviceable shoes (to which they added heel lifts). Rachel refused to wear men's underwear, though, and Kurt acquiesced, knowing better than to argue over such a small detail.

Between Elliot's and Rachel's sewing skills, they had cut down three old dresses to fit Rachel's daintier frame and mirror the slinkier evening clothes that were now the fashion. In true female impersonator style, they suggested a woman's (her) figure without clinging, in this case, masquerading reality as an illusion. For better or worse, Rachel was ready.

It was a cloudy late-April afternoon the first time Rachel entered "Madam Satan's", and she took in her surroundings barely masking her wide-eyed innocence. Far from the "den of iniquity" that Rachel had anticipated, it was well-appointed, with circular, white-clothed tables that would seat up to six and red upholstered chairs, currently turned over on top, signifying that the place was not yet opened for business. There was an "art moderne" mural on one wall and a medium sized stage with a platform for the band off to the left side.

Kurt put his arm around her shoulders, whispering, "Showtime, Rachel," just before they were joined by the proprietress and owner, Santana Lopez. Santana was a beautiful woman with olive skin and dark, almost black hair styled in chic finger waves that framed her face. She was dressed in a merlot crape skirt and a cream silk blouse with full, elbow length sleeves and a simple bodice that tied at the neck in a soft bow. She approached Rachel, and as she began to extend her hand, Rachel took it, brought it to her lips, and kissed it, flashing her best impression of a devil-may-care smirk as she looked Santana squarely in the eye.

Santana smiled, more a ghost of a smile than anything, before focusing her attention on Kurt. "Well, isn't _he_ the little charmer. Where'd you meet him, Hummel, _the playground_?" she sardonically commented. Kurt smiled, carefully replying, "No, Santana, we used to work at the same school; he wasn't a student there." He leaned forward and whispered in her ear "Rheumatic Fever," and she somberly nodded in understanding.

"After the 'Unique debacle', you can understand that I have to be careful," she reminded Kurt. "I won't have another father dragging their son off the stage again." She opened an enameled cigarette case and helped herself to a cigarette. Kurt immediately leaned in to light it for her; she took a puff, blowing the residual smoke languidly as she turned to Rachel.

"Sebastian tells me you've got quite a set of pipes on you," she commented, and Rachel smiled and nodded in return. "Well, change clothes and show me what you've got," she instructed, shooing her off, adding, "Hurry, now, little man; I haven't got all day." Kurt accompanied Rachel back stage, keeping guard while she undressed (behind a screen), then donned her dress and wig. As soon as everything was adjusted and in place, Kurt whispered, "Break a leg, kiddo," and walked onto the stage, sitting down at the piano.

Rachel followed shortly thereafter and she heard Santana draw in her breath. Rachel had opted for a natural look, rather than relying on the heavy, over-the-top makeup that was one of the marks of a drag queen. She leaned against the piano, one elbow on the top. Kurt played the introduction to "But Not For Me", and Rachel sang from her heart. By the end, it was apparent that Santana was impressed.

"Very nice, Mr. Berry," she commented non-committally, a hint of a smile beginning to make an appearance, "Can you sing something a little more upbeat?" Rachel turned toward Kurt; they had a brief conversation, she smiled, and he began the introduction to "I Got Rhythm", which she sang energetically, holding the "Aahhs…" easily as long as Ethel Merman. Song completed, a beaming Rachel watched as Santana strode toward the stage. "Where've you been hiding, little man?" Santana queried. "If I didn't know better, from where I was sitting, I would've sworn you were a woman."

Rachel swallowed and averted her eyes; fortunately, Santana wasn't paying attention. "When word gets out about you, this joint'll be packed every night," she announced excitedly. "What'll we call you though?" she pondered. "Do you have a stage name?"

Rachel cleared her throat, doing her best to sound more masculine than her soft voice would ordinarily allow. "Well, if I was a girl, my parents were going to name me 'Rachel'," she offered. "Not enough pizzazz," Santana vetoed the recommendation.

"How about 'The Incomparable Rachel'?" Kurt interjected. Santana mulled it over momentarily, finally agreeing, "Good idea, Hummel. His act is much more low key than the others. A name like 'Lotta Lettuce' or 'Lady B. Goode' or 'Jazz Baby' is too gimmicky. 'The Incomparable Rachel' it is, then." She turned to Rachel, inquiring, "When can ya' start, kid?"

"H…how about tomorrow, Miss Lopez?" Rachel politely replied. Santana smiled (for the first time that afternoon), replying, "That'll be fine, kid; and please, it's Santana. I'll pay you 20 bucks a week to start; under the table, of course. Any tips you get, you keep, and if business picks up, I'll consider a raise. Do we have a deal?"

Rachel was floored; she barely earned more than $25 for teaching, and that was before taxes. Suddenly, cutting off her hair didn't seem like the worst decision she'd ever made. "Yes, Miss…er…Santana, we _definitely_ have a deal," Rachel responded assuredly.

"OK, then, everything's jake, and I'll see you tomorrow, little man," Santana replied with a wink. "Show starts at eight; be here by six, and we'll take it from there," she instructed. As before, Rachel gallantly kissed Santana's hand again, causing her to chuckle, this time. "I think I'm gonna like this little guy," she remarked.

Kurt and Rachel exited the club and walked about a block before they burst out in laughter. "Oh, my gosh, she actually believed us, Kurt," an astounded Rachel exclaimed. "That's almost as much money as I was making at school. Thank you, Kurt!"

"No, thank you, Rachel," he responded. "This is brave of you, and if you feel uncomfortable, you can quit. In the meantime, as the song says, 'we're in the money'."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: "But Not For Me" and "I Got Rhythm" are from the 1930 Broadway musical "Girl Crazy", music by George Gershwin and lyrics by Ira Gershwin. The first was introduced by a winsome, red-headed Ginger Rogers and the second by Ethel Merman, immediately catapulting her from singing stenographer to Broadway legend.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: For all of you who have been so patient…drum roll, please…Noah/Puck is introduced in this chapter. As with Rachel, we will first delve into his family history. Because his grandparents came over rather than his parents, it will be a bit longer. The German Jews who came to America in the late 19th century usually had more money and were slightly better situated than the Eastern European Jews who emigrated in the early 20th century.

* * *

Noah "Puck" Puckerman had just made it out of Detroit in the nick of time. Up until recently, he had been running his cousin Max's speakeasy; he took care of the business end, and his cousin worked with the "supply chain", rubbing elbows with the Purple Gang, who managed to keep the club flowing with Canadian whiskey, and paying off the cops, who turned a blind eye to their little venture. Now that Prohibition had been repealed and the Gang had largely imploded, the remaining racketeers were looking for a piece of whatever action they could find, and Noah decided it was better to remove himself from the area rather than risk either getting sucked into organized crime or becoming a victim of it.

With a promise to his mother that he would keep in touch, he left for New York City with his best friend (and sometimes "wingman") Blaine Anderson in tow, in search of a business venture that would keep him on the right side of the law.

* * *

Mayer and Frieda Puckerman emigrated from Germany in 1875; like his father before him, he was a butcher by trade. It may not have been the most refined profession in the world, but it was both an honorable and lucrative one; after all, everybody needs to eat. They had been recently married and seized the opportunity to escape the ongoing restrictions placed on the Jewish people by the German government and make a new life in America. At her parents' insistence, they also brought along her little sister, Bertha ("Birdie"), who was 10 at the time.

Because the Immigration Officers could phonetically spell their name, they were able to retain it (rather than have it changed to something more generic). Mayer's cousin, Haskell (now Charles), had left a few years prior, settling in Detroit, Michigan, and he had encouraged Mayer to join him. The Jewish community was small but growing, and a Kosher butcher would certainly be an asset to the region.

Mayer became known both for the quality of his meats as well as his honesty; many a butcher was known to put his thumb casually on the scale, but never Mayer. He was a good man as well as a pious one, attending services daily as well as on the Sabbath. A man in his position had to maintain a strictly observant lifestyle; otherwise, he would not be trusted to do the same in his business practices. The only concession he made to "modern" life in America was that his wife did not wear a wig. In keeping with the styles of the day, most ladies wore hats in public, and they both considered that sufficiently modest.

In 1878, Mayer and Frieda welcomed their first child, a son whom they named Isaac, but everybody grew to call "Itzy" or "Itz" (a derivative of his Hebrew name "Itzhak"). Two years later, a second son, David, was added to the family. Itzy was affable and genuine, while David was sly, charming, and constantly getting into trouble.

In May of 1888 (when Itzy was 10), Mayer surprised Frieda with a trip to New York. Bertha was engaged and soon to be married, the winter, finally over, had been particularly brutal, and it seemed an ideal time for a vacation. The boys were entrusted to "Tante Birdie's" care, and, with the shop in his soon-to-be brother-in-law's capable hands, the couple left for their first "real" vacation since coming to America.

While walking through a Jewish business district, they happened to come across a Kosher butcher shop. Meyer, always interested to see others' stores, entered with Frieda. In addition to the cases with lamb chops, beef tongue, and other cuts of meat, there was a small, separate counter from which sandwiches were being served. The aroma was mouth-watering, unlike anything they had experienced before.

Meyer engaged the butcher in conversation, learning that the beef, called pastrami, was made using a recipe that had been given to him from a Romanian butcher. The sandwiches were huge, so they purchased one and split it. Both Meyer and Frieda were taken with the flavor and impressed with the concept of selling prepared meat along with the uncooked. Considering that Meyer was in Detroit and no direct competition, the recipe was shared with very little coaxing.

Upon returning home, Meyer purchased a new counter, and using the recipe he had carefully written down in New York, they cooked their first pastrami. After purchasing a few loaves of crusty rye bread from Jacob Berkowitz, the local (Kosher) baker, they put a sign in the window introducing the new delicacy and began their experiment. They were pleasantly surprised at the success of their side business and soon added other selections: some pickled tongue, corned beef, sliced turkey, and homemade sour dill pickles.

It was around this time that an overjoyed Frieda discovered that she was pregnant again after suffering through a succession of miscarriages. Itzy was 12 years old and David 10 when their third (and final) child, a daughter, Bessie, was added to the family. She was given the Hebrew name "Bracha" (blessing), which signified not only that their prayers had been answered, but that she was a blessing in their lives. Itzy became his sister's protector while David continued getting into (and, for the most part, out of) trouble.

By the time the boys were in high school, the lunch counter had taken off to the point that Mayer decided to purchase the building next door and turn it into a Kosher delicatessen. He would supply the meat, Frieda and Birdie their mother's recipes, and Mr. Berkowitz, the baked goods. There was a back room that they could set up for catered parties with an area that could be used for prep work, enabling the kitchen to be locked when the deli was not open for business.

Itzy showed a decided interest in the restaurant, as well as the Berkowitz's eldest daughter, Gussie. Meyer, delighted in his son's choices (of vocation and potential wife), decided to teach him the restaurant business as his father had schooled him in being a butcher; from the ground up. Itzy started as a dishwasher, slowly moving up the ranks to bus boy, waiter, counter man, sous chef, chef, and finally, by his 21st birthday, and coinciding with his marriage to Gussie, manager and partner.

David, on the other hand, showed little interest in the business. Truth be told, he showed little interest in anything beyond having a good time. He'd enrolled (or, rather, had _been_ enrolled) in Detroit Business College directly after high school, but spent his close to three years there majoring in drinking, carousing, and associating with women of dubious morality.

After either dropping out or being expelled from (nobody was ever certain) college, Meyer put his foot down. He thought adult responsibilities would "make a man" of David, who was given the ultimatum of getting a job and either finding a wife or having one selected for him. Since he was not an unintelligent man, he realized that living in his parents' home with the façade of a marriage would satisfy his father, and he could still maintain the carefree life of an unencumbered bachelor behind their backs.

David seldom considered anyone's feelings (beyond his own) and agreed to an arranged marriage. Mr. Feldman, the mashgiach who oversaw the butcher shop had four daughters, one of whom was of marriageable age. Deborah was a lovely, intelligent girl with a quick wit and a kind heart. She was tall and slim, with dark curly hair and sparkling hazel eyes. David was actually (momentarily) taken with her appearance and decided there were worse choices available.

They were married in the summer of 1903, and initially he kept up the role of dutiful husband. He began working at the Michigan Savings Bank and managed to hold the job. He had yet to grow disinterested with Deborah, rendering the search for female companionship (temporarily) unnecessary. By the following summer, she became pregnant, and in April of 1905 they were blessed with a son whom they named Noah.

Shortly after the baby was born, the novelty of new parenthood had waned, and David's urge to wander reemerged. His "love nest" had transitioned into a nursery, and his wife was now too tired to succumb to his sexual overtures. After a valiant (in his mind) effort to "walk the straight and narrow", David returned to his night-crawling ways.

To reduce his chances of being recognized (and reported back to his father), he began visiting the establishments that were frequented primarily by Detroit's Black community. On one of these excursions, he met a young woman who succumbed to his charms, eventually becoming his mistress. He visited when he could, bringing her little gifts, with the understanding that he would always return home to his wife.

Little Noah was an active lad, smart as a whip, and had inherited his mother's dancing eyes and (apparently) his father's charm. Like all little boys he idolized his father; between his job and his "lady friend", David was seldom around, and Noah enjoyed whatever time his father bestowed upon him, whether it was tossing around a ball or flying kites in the park.

Unbeknownst to his family, in the fall of 1908, David became the father of a bastard child, a beautiful little boy that his mother named Jacob. He did his best to split his time (and money) between both families, resulting in never fully emotionally committing to either one. Whether or not Deborah was the any wiser of his "extracurricular" activities she never let on, and in the winter of 1910 she announced that she was pregnant again, welcoming a daughter, Rebecca, in late summer the following year.

As his Uncle Itzy had been with his Tante Bessie, six-year-old Noah was protective of his baby sister. When she cried, he was immediately at her cradle, doing his best to calm her until his mother appeared.

In the spring of 1917 when Noah was 12 and Rebecca not yet six, the United States entered World War I. Deborah, now more alone than not, took a course in Nursing to help out at the North End Clinic. By that October, she was needed more than ever, as an Influenza epidemic had spread like wildfire through the city.

No family was untouched; in the case of the Puckermans, Bessie's youngest daughter, Molly succumbed to the terrible disease. The morning of the funeral, David appeared on the front porch with a young boy in tow. He explained that the boy's mother died during the epidemic and admitted that he was his son, Jacob. Deborah took one look at the frightened child and knew exactly what she had to do; she opened her arms to him and wrapped him in a warm embrace. She called Noah into the hallway and asked him to escort little Jacob into the living room and entertain him.

The (elder) Puckermans were with their grieving daughter, giving the couple a rare opportunity for privacy. She knew that her in-laws would take her side over David's, as they had basically given up on their son long ago. Deborah looked David squarely in the eyes and told him to gather his belongings and leave. She proclaimed that she would raise the child as her own, and he would want for nothing, but David was never to step foot in the house again or have anything to do with his children. A barely reluctant David did as he was instructed, packing his clothes and hastily exiting without a parting word to anyone.

Noah and Rebecca were told that Jacob, who preferred to be called "Jake", was their brother. They accepted him unquestioningly, the only resentment being the boys' toward their errant father. Deborah petitioned to adopt the boy; once that was finalized, based on David's desertion, she obtained a Get, releasing her from her marriage vows. True to her word, Jacob never lacked for anything, and he was given the same opportunities as his siblings. As did many children of that era (who could afford it), all three took piano lessons; although Rebecca was indifferent, the boys excelled.

Noah, or "Puck" to his friends, grew into a handsome, strapping young man who was a natural athlete, maintained good grades, and had his pick of the girls. He was a fierce protector of his younger siblings, resulting in more than one fight over the years, most of which he was the easy victor. His secret penchant was music, and he had begun writing pieces that emulated the upbeat melodies made famous by Tin Pan Alley. Unfortunately, his grandfather was unimpressed, vastly preferring classical music over frivolous, contemporary tunes.

After graduating from high school, Noah was enrolled at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Although it saddened his mother that he would be so far away, his grandfather was determined that he would become an attorney, and the first step would be a degree in Business Administration. Noah's actual preference was music; his compromise was to take as many music curriculum electives as his degree program would allow.

During his freshman year, Noah met two young men who shared his love of music: Blaine Anderson, of Anderson Motors lineage and Sam Evans, heir apparent to Evans Industries, which was based out of New York. With a couple of other boys, they formed a small jazz band, playing at fraternity parties and school dances. Apparently, the charms of music calmed more than "savage beasts", as Noah and Sam found they could have their pick of any of a number of pretty "flappers" who were distinctly freer with their affections (and their bodies) than the "nice" girls back home. Blaine, the more reserved of the trio, had much less enthusiasm for that particular aspect of college life, largely preferring to keep to himself rather than succumb to temptation.

If there was one lesson Noah had learned from his parents, it was not to fall in love. His mother's heartbreak at his father's hands led him to the decision that he would only associate with women whom he would never considering marrying. Never get too close, make no promises, have a good time, and walk away unscathed. His rakish attitude masked his underlying belief in his unworthiness as a partner coupled with a deep-seated fear of rejection, both of which were the direct result of his father's abandonment and the pain it had caused his family, especially his mother.

Despite his "flaming youth" lifestyle, Noah managed to graduate with honors in the spring of 1927 with the intention of applying to law school. However, when he returned home for the summer, he received an interesting proposition from his cousin, one that would put his life on a decidedly different career path.

As the decade evolved, the neighborhood began moving away from their old-country ideas toward a more genteel, middle-class mindset. Although they still embraced the deli, they looked for a more elegant venue for parties. As a result, Itzy had closed down the catering business, locking the back room without looking back and focusing on the day-to-day clientele. Itzy's eldest son, Max, was apparently somewhat of an entrepreneur, and looked upon that room as a great opportunity.

Given the currently "dry" state of affairs brought about by Prohibition, Max decided to take advantage of the situation by reopening the back room as a "blind pig" or speakeasy. While hanging around in various pool halls, he had become acquainted with a couple of boys who were now members of the Purple Gang, a notorious band of hijackers and rum-runners who controlled most of the organized crime in Detroit.

When Max approached his father for permission, before he had a dozen words out, his father handed him the keys to the back door and threw his hands up in the air. He told his son that he wanted no part in his activities, legal or otherwise; whether or not Max's venture was successful would rest entirely on his own shoulders. Although he expected there would be no illegal goings-on, in the event that there were, he did not want to tarnish his reputation and be considered an accomplice.

In addition to honing his managerial skills, the venture provided Noah with an opportunity to perform and a taste for the night life. He decided that, when the time was right, he would open his own place and form a band, providing him a livelihood as well as a venue do to that which he loved best.

* * *

Dapper in their tuxedos, Noah and Blaine entered the main room of the Stork Club, trying to appear nonchalant as they scanned the best of café society, searching for Sam Evans, who had arranged a party with some of his friends and insisted they attend. Sam quickly approached the boys with a pretty (cosmetic) blonde on his arm. She had a porcelain complexion, a slim figure accented by a bias-cut pale pink satin gown, pencil-thin eyebrows that framed icy green eyes and a pouty Cupid's bow mouth encased in red lip rouge. Her eyes scanned Noah, not hiding her interest in the new addition.

"Sammykins, you simply _must_ introduce me to your charming friends," she gushed, looking up flirtatiously through heavily mascaraed eyelashes at Noah. "Oh, yeah, sure," Sam hastily responded. "Lucille Fabray, may I introduce 'Puck' Puckerman and Blaine Anderson, two of my fellow classmates from the University of Michigan."

Lucille held out her hand to Noah, interjecting "Charmed, I'm sure." He took her hand and kissed it, emulating an action he had seen in the movies but seldom used. Looking immensely pleased with herself and smiling slyly, she coolly retracted her hand and offered the same to Blaine, who responded in kind. Linking arms with both Sam and Noah, Lucille led the way back to their table, with Blaine following closely behind.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: "Tante" (pronounced "tahn-teh") is Yiddish for "aunt".

A mashgiach (pronounced mahsh-gee-ach, guttural "ch") is a person who oversees a Kosher establishment to ensure that all appropriate practices are in place.

The North End Clinic was a facility in Detroit at that time that took care of all patients, i.e. it was not restricted against Jews and was, in fact, where most of the Jewish doctors received their practical training. Harper Hospital was in existence at that time, but I was unable to determine whether or not they accepted Jewish patients (they do now, of course).

The University of Michigan's Ann Arbor campus is no more than an hour from Detroit (proper). Back then, with no expressways or modern cars, it was a considerably longer journey.

There was no "Anderson Motors" or "Evans Industries". There were, however, many small motor car companies that either disappeared or were absorbed into what eventually became "the Big Three" (Ford, Chrysler, and General Motors).

The Stork Club was a famous nightclub in New York City. A bit of trivia: the man who owned it (Sherman Billinglsey) was the father of actress Barbara Billingsley, who played "June Cleaver" on "Leave It To Beaver".

A "cosmetic" blonde was a polite way of describing a woman who was not a natural blonde, i.e. she colored (bleached) her hair.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: I apologize in advance if anybody is offended by use of the term "pansy" or "fairy" when referring to gay men. Please consider the source (within the story). I wanted to stay (relatively) true to the vernacular of the day without being overly derogatory.

* * *

Noah wasn't sure how it happened, but over the next couple of weeks he found himself squiring around Lucille Fabray, Sam's vacuous debutante companion. Originally, it was the three of them; himself, Blaine, and Sam, with Lucille in tow, hanging onto Sam and mercilessly flirting with Noah. According to their families, Sam and Lucille had been destined for marriage from an early age, and although Sam would dispute that, Lucille was eager to comply. She preferred to continue her life of wealth and ease, remaining blissfully unaware of the social and political problems that faced the majority of American society. If there was little love lost between the two, well, they could both have their dalliances, and as long as nobody got caught, nobody got hurt.

Upon graduating from college and returning home, Sam fell in love. They were absolutely dizzy about each other; unfortunately, any thought of a commitment, let alone a connection, would prove scandalous for his family. You see, in addition to owning and operating the most popular brothel in Greenwich Village, his sweetheart, Mercedes was not only beautiful, she was also Black. He spent as much time with her as he dared, and with Lucille temporarily entertained by his friends, he was free to slip away to be in her company.

Noah had been asking around, seeking out possible venues and partners with whom to open a club. He learned of a woman, a Miss Santana Lopez, who was looking to branch out. She currently owned and operated a nightclub that catered primarily to a homosexual clientele and was interested in pursuing a more mainstream opportunity, as well. He had called her, setting up an appointment to meet and begin discussing this potential venture. It was with this in mind that he, Blaine, and Lucille, dressed in their evening attire, entered Madam Satan's.

The maître d' (Sebastian) greeted them, and, after stating their business, he escorted them to a table. He caught Blaine's eye, barely cocking his left eyebrow; in return, Blaine subtly nodded his head once before ceasing all eye contact. While Lucille huffed over the lack of attention, Noah kept his eyes forward, and Blaine smiled gently, unnoticed by his friends.

Sebastian left them at their table, walking toward Kurt and making eye contact. He nodded over to the trio, whispering, "Keep your eye on the shorter one, Kurtie. I think he 'likes boys'." Kurt's eyebrows rose slightly as he glanced over at the group, definitely intrigued by what he saw.

As the two men watched, Noah pulled out Lucille's chair, who purred, "Thank you, Puckiekins," to which he rolled his eyes and quietly retorted, "I've asked you before…please don't call me that, Lucille; it's 'Puck'." She pouted, dejectedly looking at him as he sat, unmoved by her apparent displeasure. Blaine, audience to it all, thought to himself, "_I don't know how he does it, but this one, poor lamb…a hopeless cause. I wonder how Sam puts up with it…_"

The three of them looked the place over as discretely as they could, clearly fish out of water. "Geez," Lucille quietly exclaimed, "I've never seen so many 'pansies' in one room before." Noah cleared his throat, saying nothing, while Blaine glanced away, scowling slightly. He noticed their waiter coming toward them and brightened up considerably. The young man was tall, lean, and handsome…almost pretty…and, as Blaine had lately come to realize, just his type.

_Until recently, Blaine never considered men as anything but companions, teammates, and friends. He was largely indifferent to the machinations of the "flappers" and "shebas" of his college days, considering them too superficial for his taste. He had courted one or two girls, largely at his family's insistence, but had yet to find "the right one", which he assumed, was only a matter of time. He fully expected to marry and raise a family and never contemplated anything to the contrary._

_All of this changed last year; he had made a trip to England with his family and met a man on the ship who awakened his true desires, thereby changing the course of his life. For the first time, he felt at peace and comfortable in his own skin. He was the same person, obviously; nothing had changed save his choice of potential lovers. However, he feared the reaction of his family and his friends. His father would be furious, his mother, devastated, and his friends (he assumed) would probably pull away, leaving him to wallow in his loneliness. For these reasons, he had decided to keep this to himself, remaining evasive when approached about eligible young ladies, and hoping his behavior did nothing to expose who he really was._

"My name is Kurt, and I'll be your waiter this evening," Kurt politely announced. "May I take your drink orders?" He looked pointedly at Lucille, who took a moment to regain her composure, still awkward in her surroundings. "I'll have a pink lady, thank you," she replied coolly.

Kurt turned his attention to Noah who looked up, smiled genuinely and said, "I'll have a horse's neck; no 'kick', please." Kurt nodded, writing down the order, muttering to himself "Pink…lady…horses'…neck…no…kick." He focused his attention toward Blaine, asking, "And you, sir?"

Blaine looked directly into Kurt's clear blue eyes and swallowed hard, thinking "_Compose yourself, old man, before you give yourself away…_" He smiled cautiously, replying, "I'll have a vodka gimlet, please." Blaine handed Kurt the cocktail menu, their hands brushing against each other briefly. Kurt looked at Blaine, his eyes twinkling while the rest of his face remained placid. "Thank you, sir," he replied, "I'll be back shortly with your drinks."

To take his mind off of the handsome young man, Blaine focused his attention on Noah, commenting, "No 'kick', Puck?" Noah nodded, explaining, "I need to keep a clear head if I want to discuss business, so no booze for me tonight." Lucille, preoccupied with her reflection in her ornate compact mirror, paid no attention to the boys. In her opinion, her appearance was far more important to one of their boring conversations, especially since it didn't revolve around her.

So mesmerized was she that she didn't notice the woman who had approached the table until her escorts stood up. "Mr. Puckerman?" Santana questioned, looking at both young men. Noah grinned, extending his hand as he replied, "That would be me. Miss Lopez, I trust?" Santana looked him over thoughtfully as they shook hands; she may have been a lesbian, but she still appreciated a handsome man, and he was indeed that.

"Please, call me 'Santana'," she corrected him. "And who, may I ask, do we have here?" she continued, glancing at Blaine before pointedly looking at Lucille, her mouth twitching at the corners as she tried to suppress an intrigued smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry; Miss…er…Santana Lopez, may I introduce Miss Lucille Fabray…" Santana took Lucille's right hand, holding it a moment in both of hers, and smiled at her impishly, left eyebrow raised. "A pleasure, I'm sure, Miss Fabray," Santana's murmured seductively. Lucille blushed, not knowing quite how to react as Santana's brown eyes bore into her own. She nodded, slightly embarrassed; Santana, tickled by Lucille's reaction, unclasped her hand and turned her focus toward Blaine. She nodded in his direction, allowing Noah to introduce him, "And this is Blaine Anderson."

Santana, who missed very little, had immediately noticed Blaine's and Kurt's wordless interaction, which amused her greatly. "Welcome to 'Madam Satan's', Mr. Anderson," she greeted him, "Please make yourself at home." Blaine smiled cordially, replying, "Thank you, Santana; I will."

Before either of the boys could offer their assistance, Santana pulled up a chair for herself from a nearby table, sitting down neatly between Blaine and Lucille. Santana's sleek marcelled waves and simple plum satin gown were in stark contrast to Lucille's fluffy, blonde tresses and pale green chiffon frock with its soft cascading ruffles.

"So, Mr. Puckerman," Santana began; he immediately corrected her, "'Puck'." She smiled languidly, continuing, "OK; Puck, then. I understand you're interested in opening a club. What're your plans?"

Before Noah could speak, Kurt returned with their drink order. He served the cocktails, smiling at Blaine as their eyes met once again. Santana interjected, "Kurt will be back later to check on you," effectively shooing him away. She focused on Noah again, encouraging him, "As you were saying, Puck…"

Before he could begin, the band, who had been readying themselves for the show, completed their preparations and played a fanfare. The master of ceremonies/ maître d' stepped up to the microphone, and Santana, eyes focused on the stage and a self-satisfied smirk on her lips, spoke quickly, "We'll talk later, Puck. Trust me; you're in for a hot time. My 'girls' are the sweetest canaries in 'the Village'."

Unlike many "drag" shows, Santana insisted that the "girls" not revert to parody; they all may be men in dresses, but they were to sing the songs without a nod to their true sexuality. As a result, they were appreciated for their talent rather than mocked for their portrayals; occasionally, the audience was left wondering the true gender of the performer.

Backstage, Elliot and Rachel stood together, his arm protectively around her shoulders. "I checked, and the joint's jumping tonight," he confirmed. Rachel shuddered slightly, and Elliot did his best to calm her, whispering: "Don't worry, dearie, nobody's caught on, yet, and nobody will. Just remember your 'swagger' and keep on knockin' 'em dead." He kissed her on the cheek, and she smiled weakly.

As they were waiting in the wings, they heard the announcement beginning the show:

"Ladies and gentlemen, old friends and new faces; I'm Sebastian Smythe, your MC for this evening." After a polite round of applause, Sebastian continued, "For our first number, it is my pleasure to introduce your favorite chanteuse and mine, the lovely…'Starchild'."

"Break a leg, Elliot," Rachel whispered. "You, too, kiddo," he replied, momentarily turning his head back toward her before taking his place onstage. Elliot opened his set with "Falling In Love Again", followed by "Love for Sale", both of which were well-received by the audience.

Lucille leaned into Noah, her hand touching his forearm to catch his attention, whispering, "Golly, she's tall." Noah chuckled as he turned to face the vapid girl, remarking, "Lucille, that was a man, not a woman." She drew back, gasping, "Oh, my!" clearly at a loss for more descriptive words.

After Elliot's applause died down, Sebastian took the mike again. "Our next performer is that little 'lady' you've all been waiting for, 'The Incomparable Rachel'." Rachel took a deep breath, pulled herself up to as far as her 5' 3" frame (plus heels) would allow, and walked onto the darkened stage. Illuminated by a single spotlight, she began to sing "The Man I Love".

The moment he heard her voice, Noah's head snapped up from his companions, his gaze immediately transfixed on the stage as if lured by a siren's song. The woman was not classically beautiful, yet he had never seen anyone lovelier. His body reacted instantaneously; he felt butterflies in his stomach, his heart pounding in his chest, and the beginning of an erection in his trousers. No woman had ever impacted him so strongly before, and he knew that he had to meet her.

Rachel, as she was wont to do, scanned the crowd as she performed. Suddenly, her eyes locked in on Noah's intense gaze, and she nearly forgot the lyrics. She had never experienced such a powerful connection, especially with a stranger she could barely see across the dimly lit room, yet her pulse sped up and she found it difficult to look away. She finished her song to thunderous applause, starting her second number, "Night and Day". Much as she tried, by the time she was singing "_That this longing for you follows wherever I go…_" she felt her eyes drawn back to the handsome stranger until she was singing directly to him for the remainder of the piece.

Mesmerized as she was, the frankness of the lyrics got the better of her, and as soon as the number had ended, she pulled her eyes away, a delicate blush on her cheeks as she graciously accepted the audience's appreciation, finally leaving the stage for the next performance.

Noah was completely taken aback; this beautiful woman had apparently serenaded him, and he was totally caught up in the moment. When she completed the song, she appeared to look away in modesty; ordinarily, that would be a warning sign to Noah. He maintained his distance from the shy, demure types, preferring women who were more world-weary and suffered no allusions about romance. In this case, he found it strangely attractive and was determined to meet this woman and figure out what, if anything, there was between them.

"You seem quite compelled with our favorite 'songbird'," Santana jibed, bringing Noah back to his surroundings. "I want to meet her, Santana," he said, matter-of-factly. Lucille gasped, "Well, I _never_…" while Blaine smirked to himself, waiting for what he expected the inevitable punch line to be.

Santana broke out in hearty laughter, correcting him, "I hate to break your little bubble, Puck, but all of our entertainers are men, 'Rachel' included." Noah's incredulous expression sent her into further laughter as he challenged her, "I don't believe that for a minute, Santana."

She calmed herself enough to reply, "Believe it or not, Puckerman; she's a 'he'. He's involved with Kurt, your waiter this evening. If you'd like, I'll ask Kurt to bring him over after he changes clothes." Noah, convinced Santana was lying, or, at least, thoroughly deceived, composed himself and replied, "Please do, Santana. I'd like to meet this man personally and congratulate him on his outstanding performance."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: A pink lady is a typical drink of the era made with gin, grenadine, and an egg white. A horses' neck with "no kick" was a non-alcoholic drink made of ginger ale, ice, and a long twist of lemon peel. A vodka gimlet was made with vodka, lime, and club soda.

"Falling in Love Again (Can't Help It)" – music by Freidrich Hollaender, English lyrics by Sammy Lerner, introduced by Marlene Dietrich in "The Blue Angel" (1930).

"Love for Sale" – music and lyrics by Cole Porter (1930).

"The Man I Love" – music by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin (1927).

"Night and Day" – music and lyrics by Cole Porter (1932), introduced by Fred Astaire in the play "Gay Divorce", remade as the film "The Gay Divorcee'" (1934).


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next performance was in full swing and the other acts were waiting in the wings when Rachel returned from the stage. Elliot was seated at a dressing table, removing his makeup. He felt her presence in the room and glanced away from the mirror, face partially covered in cold cream, and noticed her perplexed expression. "What's wrong, sweetie?" he inquired thoughtfully.

"Oh, my gosh, Elliot! I did the most embarrassing thing," she moaned. "What was that, kiddo?" he inquired, turning back to the mirror and continuing his task. "I sang to a man in the audience…'Night and Day'…and I…I couldn't take my eyes off him," she confessed.

"That's nice, Rachel," Elliot admitted with a soft smile as he wiped the remainder of his persona away, "You finally found someone who interested you…" An exasperated Rachel shook her head, interjecting, "Don't you get it, Elliot? I'm _not_ me, I'm supposed to be _Ruben_. Aside from the fact that I have no idea who this man is, and he had a pretty girl on his arm; besides, I'm supposed to be a man. Oh, well," she sighed, "the money's good, and I'm singing, so I shouldn't complain. I'd best get changed; Kurt's shift is ending soon, and we can all go home together."

Elliot waited for Rachel, acting as lookout to ensure her "secret" was preserved for yet another night. Back in their street clothes, the two friends were about to head for the kitchen where Kurt would be waiting when he rushed in, wild eyed and out of breath.

"You're not gonna believe this!" Kurt exclaimed. "There's a man here tonight who wants to open another club with Santana…and he wants to meet you, _Ruben_." Having completed his mission and delivered his message, Kurt exhaled deeply, collapsing on a nearby chair.

Rachel eyed Kurt dubiously, questioning, "He wants to meet _me_? "_Why_?" Kurt sighed, looking up at Rachel before explaining, "If you must know the truth, he doesn't believe that you're a man." Rachel paled while muttering to herself "_Oy, vey iz mir_". Eyes quickly filling with tears, she apologized, "I'm sorry, boys, I knew this was too good to last. Maybe if I leave, now, he'll forget about it and I can at least save your jobs."

Rachel began to walk away, but Kurt grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to flee. "Rachel," he calmly began, "if you fooled Santana, and, trust me, _nobody __ever__ fools Santana_, you should be able to convince this 'rube' from Detroit with one hand tied behind your back."

Rachel exhaled slowly, brushing herself off as if to regain some of her composure. "Which one was he," she inquired curiously, "the balding 'Babbitt' at table three?"

"No," Kurt replied, "the tall, good-looking fellow at table five. He was accompanied by a blonde and a shorter guy who's _definitely_ my type." As Elliot teased, "Oh, Kurtie, I'm crushed; all this time, I thought _I_ was your type," Rachel's eyes widened, her calm again replaced by anxiety. Noticing her demeanor, Elliot asked, "Is everything OK, dearie?"

"Elliot, that's the man I was telling you about," she confessed. "This is worse than I ever imagined. I…I can't do this," she quietly stated, turning to walk away again. Kurt looked at Elliot inquisitively, who explained, "Apparently, our Rachel has developed a little crush on this man."

Kurt looked sympathetically at Rachel, pleading, "Please, Rachel; don't leave. You've come this far…consider this an opportunity. You have a chance to meet this man as an equal…figure out if your attraction is anything more than that."

Rachel stopped momentarily, considering her options: "_Kurt's right…men always act differently around women…it would be a good test of my acting skills…and it would be nice to meet somebody without the pretenses…who am I kidding, this is a __huge__ pretense…I'm __not__ a man…on the other hand, Daddy never really knew my mother…not that this would come to that, of course…hmm…_" She looked at Kurt trepidatiously, speaking barely above a whisper, "OK, Kurt, I'll do it."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt Hummel and a sufficiently calm 'Ruben' Berry walked hand-in-hand toward table five, looking as much in love as they could muster. Each of the individuals seated there bore extremely different facial expressions. Santana Lopez radiated amusement as she stifled a laugh, considering her deluded new acquaintance. Lucille Fabray's face was a mixture of extreme curiosity and unease, as she had never formally met a gay couple before. Blaine Anderson bore a placid mask, his eyes the only give-away to his jealousy, as he had felt "something" toward this handsome stranger and would have preferred him to be unencumbered. And, Noah Puckerman, the instigator of this meeting, watched the couple intently; he refused to believe that any woman who affected him that strongly was actually a man in a dress.

"Well, Santana, here we are," Kurt politely announced upon their arrival. Santana's grin reflected her immense entertainment with the situation. "You've already met Kurt Hummel," she announced to the group. "Ruben Berry, this is Lucille Fabray…" Rachel took Lucille's outstretched hand and kissed it, much as she had upon meeting Santana for the first time. "Charmed, I'm sure," Lucille replied, continuing vapidly, "I didn't know 'your kind' kissed women."

Rachel smiled, explaining (in the most "masculine" voice she could muster), "All men appreciate a beautiful woman," and Lucille, content with her flattery, smiled and relaxed in her seat.

Santana turned to Blaine, introducing, "This is Blaine Anderson," and the two shook hands politely. Rachel noticed the brief look that passed between this man and Kurt, smiling at the thought that her friend may have found someone, and she replied, "A pleasure, Mr. Anderson."

Santana could barely disguise her glee as she continued, "And this is 'Puck' Puckerman, Ruben. He was quite impressed with your performance…" Rachel extended her hand, bravely looking Noah in the eyes as she said, "It's always nice to meet a 'fan'." He took her hand to shake it, but only held it, returning the look, eye-to-eye.

Upon contact, each party felt an immediate physical reaction. Although she was in control enough not to blush, Rachel looked away, realizing that her eyes might reveal her feelings. Noah had never experienced such a strong response to a woman, let alone a man, leaving him disquieted as he drew away his hand, replying, "You are one convincing woman, Mr. Berry. Won't you both please join us?"

Noah studied Rachel intently as she and Kurt pulled up chairs to their now-crowded table. Her mannerisms were distinctly male, but, somehow, a little "off", as if they were practiced rather than natural. As the group chatted politely, even when her focus was elsewhere, Rachel sensed the intensity of Noah's gaze. On the one hand, she felt extremely flattered; he was even better looking in person than from a distance, and her attraction had only grown since their meeting. On the other hand, though, she was frightened that he might figure her out and nix the whole charade, putting not only herself, Kurt, and Elliot out of work for their duplicity but casting a bad light on Santana for what her patrons would assume was her collaboration in the farce.

After a few minutes of polite, superficial conversation, Noah turned to Rachel with a sly smile, looked deeply into her eyes and quietly said "_Du…bist a schwindl_". Rachel's eyes widened with surprise; she faltered momentarily before gaining her composure and testily responding "_Bist meshugeh?_" Noah smirked, shaking his head, explaining "_Du megn meynen du bist a gute aktrise, mernisht`du s'ken nisht nar mir_."

As the rest of their party watched with a mixture of interest and confusion, Rachel sat up tall in her seat, admonishing Noah, "_Oyf dayn informatsye, ich bin __gants __mantsbil_." Noah laughed heartily at her defense, replying, "_Un az di bobe volt gehat beytsim, volt zi geven mayn zeyde!_"

Before a clearly frustrated (and embarrassed) Rachel had a chance to retort, Lucille piped up, "Will you two please stop talking 'Pig Latin'? Gee whiz, give a girl a break!" Lucille had single-handed and unknowingly diffused Rachel's growing anxiety, and she sighed softly as a chuckling Kurt explained, "That wasn't Pig Latin, dearie, that was Yiddish. Your friend Puck here was telling my boyfriend that he doesn't believe that he is a man." Kurt looked at Noah, confirming with a smile, "I can assure you, Puck; Ruben is 'all man', and he's _all mine_."

Noah, smirked, countering, "And as _I_ said, if my grandmother had testicles, then she'd be my grandfather." Lucille gasped and looked at Noah in abject horror as he concluded smugly, "In other words, I don't believe you."

Kurt squeezed Rachel's hand comfortingly as she tossed off, "Suit yourself, Mr. Puckerman," as nonchalantly as she could.

Realizing Rachel's disconcertion, Kurt made their excuses: "We'd love to stay and chat longer, but Ruben needs his 'beauty sleep'. We can't have 'The Incomparable Rachel' with bags under 'her' eyes." Kurt glanced around the table, locking eyes with Blaine before concluding, "I hope to see you all again, soon."

"Rest assured, you will," Noah confirmed confidently. As Kurt and Rachel were about to stand up, Noah leaned over and whispered huskily in her ear, "I'll prove you are a woman, and I will have you. You'll be _all_ _mine_, make no mistake about that." Rachel, who was quite taken aback, rolled her eyes and shook her head (to conceal her feelings), bruskly retorting, "Good luck with that, Mr. Puckerman."

After the couple had left the room, Santana broke down in laughter, commenting, "You poor delusional man. He may be short, but, trust me, he's a man." Noah shook his head, challenging, "How can you be so certain, Santana? Have you ever seen him undressed?"

"I haven't," she confessed, "but he changes clothes with the other performers, and I haven't heard anything to the contrary. Those guys are the biggest bunch of gossips I've ever met, and if he wasn't a man, it'd have been all over the place weeks ago. Needless to say, he'd be out on the street, along with his friends."

Noah shook his head in disbelief; he was convinced that 'Ruben' was a woman; how else could he explain the intense physical reaction he felt when 'he' was near? Before he had a chance to contemplate his next steps, Santana arose, explaining, "It's been swell, but this 'gin joint' doesn't run itself. Puck; I'll be in touch. Blaine…Lucille; a pleasure." As she walked away, she casually slipped Lucille a small card, muttering under her breath so only Lucille could hear, "When you get tired of 'Pretty Boy Puck', ring me up." Lucille blushed slightly, tucking the card into her purse unnoticed by her male companions, who were momentarily ignoring her, deep in their own conversation.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: As a disclaimer, I don't speak Yiddish. I know some words and phrases, but I relied on the Internet for most of the content. If anybody "out there" has better information, please feel free to pass it on.

Oy, vey iz mir – literally "Oh, woe is me"; in context, more like "Holy shit!"

Du bist a schwindl – You are a fraud.

Bist meshugeh? – Are you crazy?

Du megn meynen du bist a gute aktrise, mernisht`du s'ken nisht nar mir – You may think you're a good actress, but you can't fool me.

Oyf dayn informatsye, ikh bin gants mantsbil - For your information, I'm all man.

Un az di bobe volt gehat beytsim, volt zi geven mayn zeyde! – And if my grandmother had testicles, she would be my grandfather!

"Pretty Boy" Floyd was a notorious bank robber at that time (killed in October '34). Santana's not insinuating that Noah's a criminal, merely using the nickname because he was good-looking and, well, Santana is Santana, regardless of the era.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Kurt and Rachel entered the dressing room where Elliot was waiting, eager to learn what had transpired. By this time, the other entertainers were milling about in various stages of undress. The three looked at each other wordlessly, bid "good night" to their co-workers, and made a bee line for the door, walking out into the warm late spring air.

By a block away, the club was well out of earshot, and, had it not been for each man's arms linked through Rachel's, she would have collapsed onto the sidewalk. Rachel's face was ashen as they headed for the nearest bench, carefully seating her before joining her on the worn wooden surface.

"Rachel, sweetie, what's wrong," a concerned Elliot queried as Kurt nervously patted her hand. Rachel could feel her heart pounding and took a few slow, deep breaths, attempting to regain her bearings. "Oh, my gosh!" she finally whispered, as much to herself as her companions.

"What did the man say to you, Rachel?" Kurt wondered. Rachel looked at Kurt, her eyes filled with apprehension as she confessed, tears rolling down her cheeks, "He told me that he would prove that I'm a woman, and then he would 'have' me, and I would be his. I'm _so sorry_…I don't know what to do…"

"How do you feel about all this, dearie?" Kurt quietly inquired. Rachel pondered a moment before replying, "Honestly, Kurt, I'm confused. I…I felt something for this man. I should feel disgusted by what he said, but I'm…intrigued, somehow." She looked hopelessly at her companions, searching for the right words to best explain her emotional state.

Kurt and Elliot glanced sideways at each other, knowing looks passing between them. "It's obvious you're attracted to this man," Elliot offered, "that's certainly understandable; he _is_ quite handsome."

"It's more than that, though," Rachel admitted, "something intangible…when he touched me, I felt…oh, I don't know, but I felt _something_. If it was just his appearance, I could easily disregard it. There's more to it…" Kurt looked at Rachel directly, taking her hand as he began to speak, "Rachel, you have several options, here. You can drop the whole thing, and we can make up some excuse, like your father was sick and you had to go home. You can come clean and we'll all lose our jobs; not my favorite, but still possible, nevertheless." Kurt took a deep breath and exhaled softly before concluding, "Or…you can stick with it, get to know this man better as an equal, and, if you decide that you 'like' him…well, you'll cross that bridge when you come to it."

While Rachel mulled over her choices, Elliot confirmed, "Rachel, no matter what you decide, we'll still be your friends, even if it means finding new jobs." Rachel smiled gently, replying, "Thank you Elliot; both of you, really. I'm lucky to have such swell friends." She sat up straighter, as if to regain her bearings, and then continued, "Times are tough, and I can't have us all on the street. I like performing, and, crazy as it sounds, I think I'm up for the challenge."

Elliot and Kurt looked at each other incredulously; Kurt turned to Rachel, querying, "Are you sure, Rachel? You don't have to do this…" Rachel nodded, her smile growing by the moment. "Very sure, Kurt," she confirmed. "I have no idea how this'll turn out, but I'm fascinated by the possibilities. Either we lose our jobs now…or later. I say 'later'."

* * *

Back at Madam Satan's, Noah and Blaine had settled their bill and the three companions left the nightclub to hail a taxi that would take them home for the evening. Once inside and heading toward Lucille's residence, she turned to Noah, her pretty face registering confusion as she asked, "Puckiekins, are you a 'fairy'?"

He looked at her indignantly, quickly retorting, "In the first place, it's 'Puck', and in the second place, absolutely not. If I was, would I do this?" he questioned her, grabbing her face in his two hands and kissing her passionately (Blaine turned away, covering his amusement as best he could). Mission completed, he pulled away, smirking, and looked her defiantly in her widened eyes, now reflecting a mixture of confusion and lust, repeating, "Well, _would I_?"

"Oooh, Puckiekins, I had no idea you felt this way," Lucille purred, linking her arm through Noah's and pressing herself against his side, head on his shoulder. He shook her free as gently as he could, bluntly explaining, "I _don't_. I just did that to prove a point." She looked at him, grinning impishly, and in a sing-song manner, countered, "I don't be-_lieve_ you." She smiled contentedly, emphatically commenting, "Nobody kisses like _that_ unless they _mean it_."

Noah shook his head, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath "Women!" as Lucille drew herself closer again and snuggled contentedly against him. "That's OK, Puckiekins," she consoled him (or so she thought ;-)), "men do find me irresistible, you know. I promise, I won't tell Sammy if you don't." Blaine could hold his laughter no longer, much to Lucille's disdain.

"Blaine Anderson, I demand to know what's so darn funny!" she fumed. "Oh…nothing, Lucille," Blaine quickly responded, "just thinking about the evening in general. You never did get down to business with Santana, Puck."

"That's right…I didn't," Noah mused. "I guess we'll have to go back, again, won't we, Blaine."

* * *

Two nights later, Noah, Blaine and Lucille once again entered Madam Satan's, where they were greeted almost instantly by Sebastian and led to the same table. Noah was attempting to extricate himself from Lucille's increasingly enamored behavior while Blaine looked on, amusement written all over his face.

"Come on, Puckiekins," Lucille lamented, "I just saw Sammy yesterday, and he doesn't think there's anything going on between us." Noah looked somewhat disdainfully at Lucille, commenting, "That's because there _isn't_, Lucille. We're friends. Period." Lucille pouted at his comments, daintily pulling out her compact from her beaded bag and primping, cautiously reviewing her features as if to reassure herself that she was, in fact, a desirable woman. Before she had a chance to complete her activity and return the compact to her purse, a smirking Santana approached the table, this evening, accompanied by another woman.

"Welcome back, Puck, Blaine…Lucille," Santana greeted them each in turn, pausing slightly as she took Lucille's hand in hers. "Allow me to present my friend, Danielle. Dani, these are some new friends of mine…" Santana's companion for the evening was dressed in stark contrast to her soft finger waves and sleek emerald silk gown. Danielle's hair was cut in a severe Dutch Boy bob reminiscent of Louise Brooks, although its color (which matched her nail polish) was a startling dark blue. Rather than an evening gown, she wore a pair of full-cut trousers with a tuxedo jacket, dress shirt, and white bow tie. Her cigarette dangled precariously from the end of a long and elaborately enameled holder that she currently held in a decidedly posed manner.

Danielle greeted each person in turn, her kohl-rimmed eyes lingering on Lucille's delicate features and frothy pastel gown. "Enchanting to meet you all, I'm sure," she huskily commented. Santana smiled at her friend, suggesting, "Dani, why don't you take Lucille to meet some of our acquaintances? I'd like to discuss business with these gentlemen."

"Of course, Santana," Dani replied. "Lucille," she began, taking Lucille's arm in her own, "please come with me." Lucille, looking a bit like a deer in headlights as she accompanied Dani, glanced back pleadingly at Noah while he smiled politely, shrugging his shoulders in response.

"OK, let's get down to brass tacks," Santana began, sitting down in Lucille's recently vacated chair, "What are your plans, Puck? If you're quick about it, you can catch your 'little friend's' performance tonight."

Noah smirked, recalling his challenge from two nights ago. Actually, that was why he'd insisted they return at night, rather than during the day, which would actually have been a more sensible time to discuss business. "Well, as I mentioned before, I'd like to open a nightclub. I ran my cousin's 'speak' in Detroit up until recently…"

"Why'd you come to New York?" Santana quizzed him. Noah shook his head ruefully, explaining, "What's left of the Purple Gang's looking to get their hooks into anything they can, and I don't want any part of the rackets," he admitted, "so Blaine and I made tracks out 'a Detroit." Santana nodded her head in understanding, replying, "I get it; that's not unique to Detroit, you know. If it wasn't for a couple 'a 'coppers' with yen for my 'girls', I'd have been 'up shit creek' with the mob long ago."

"Anyway," he continued, "I want a place where everybody feels comfortable, no 'black tie' requirements; ya' know, classy but not snooty. Good food, good booze, good music…with a dance floor, seating for about 150, and top notch acoustics for my band."

"I had no idea you were a musician, Puck," Santana commented. "That I am," he replied with a grin. "We had a jazz band back in college; Blaine, here, plays a pretty mean trumpet…" Blaine smiled, nodding his head as he casually scanned the crowd for the attractive waiter from the prior evening. Noah continued, "Our friend, Sam blows a hot tenor sax, and I play piano and guitar. My brother…he's still in Detroit, but I'll move him out here…plays the clarinet and piano, as well. And…we all sing, too," he concluded proudly. "I must say, I'm impressed," Santana admitted. "I've been known to warble a tune or two, myself," she revealed.

"Why don't you sing here, Santana?" Blaine inquired. "I'm sure your patrons would love to hear you." Santana smirked, commenting, "You may be right, Anderson, but the revue here is all about 'the girls', not me." She cocked her left eyebrow, remarking, "Maybe after we open our new club, I'll grace the stage with my presence…that is," she gestured down her torso, as if revealing herself, "if you think you can handle all this."

"If you can sing as good as you look, the stage is yours whenever you want it, _partner_," Puck responded with a wink. "If I didn't..." Santana daintily cleared her throat, continuing "...prefer the company of women, I might seriously give you a run for your money, Puckerman. 'Sing as good as I look', my ass!" she retorted, breaking out into hearty laughter.

While Noah and Santana began to delve deeper into plans for their nightclub, Kurt approached the table. Taking their drink orders, his eyes linking with Blaine's as a secret smile passed between them. Kurt subtly nodded his head toward the bar, indicating that Blaine join him there for a private conversation. Shortly after Kurt left to submit their order, Blaine made his excuses and removed himself from the table while the two remaining parties continued their discussion.

Once Kurt had spoken with the bartender, he ducked back into the dressing room, finding Rachel seated at a vanity table applying her lip rouge with a critical eye. She looked up to find Kurt, eyeing him quizzically and asking, "What's going on, Kurt?" He took her elbow and they silently left the bustle of the pre-show preparations, walking outside for a breath of fresh air and a moment of privacy.

"Your handsome stranger is back, Rachel," Kurt advised her. Rachel paled momentarily, causing Kurt to cautiously remind her, "Are you sure you're up to this? We can always say you went home sick."

Rachel took a slow, deep breath, steadying herself before confidently replying, "I can do this, Kurt. I'm in this deep already; might as well see what happens next." Conversation ceased as they reentered, just as Sebastian began her introduction. Rachel kissed Kurt on the cheek, requesting, "Wish me luck, Kurt!" As she hurried away to make her entrance, Kurt whispered, "Good luck, Rachel."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Louise Brooks was a famous actress, primarily in the 1920s.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Basking in the glow of a single spotlight, Rachel sang "Yesterdays", its plaintive melody bringing a slight catch to her voice and a tear to her eye. Noah ceased conversation with Santana as his gaze became riveted to the stage; yet again he found himself transfixed by her voice. "_There is no way that beautiful doll is a man_," he thought, immediately formulating an idea as to how prove it. As their eyes met, he winked at her, smirking at her immediate reaction, which was to demurely break eye contact.

Although Rachel performed as if the only thing that mattered was the song, her inner dialog told another story: "Y_ou're being an idiot_," she thought as she evaluated the situation. "_If you don't stand up to him, he'll make a fool of you and get you fired in the process_."

Rachel completed the number to appreciative applause, taking a modest bow before her accompanist began the introduction to her second piece, "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes". Taking her own challenge, this time she sought out Noah's eyes, finding them at the line "_They…said some day you'll find_," and locking in on the next one "_All who love are blind…_" Having honed in on her target, Rachel's face was a mask of serenity as she completed the lovely ballad.

Leaving the stage, Rachel felt a surge of empowerment; she had met this odd yet compelling challenge head on. What surprised her more than her reaction was his; the look on his face had evolved from defiance to tenderness as the song played out. She was convinced that there was more to this man than met the eye, and she was determined to find out what that was, regardless of the cost.

Kurt, who had been discretely conversing with Blaine in a dark corner of the bar, ceased talking when Rachel began her second song. "Your boyfriend's quite talented," Blaine commented, his voice constricting a bit on the word "boyfriend". Kurt nodded, smiling, and replied, "Yes, he has a gift."

"Do you think he'd mind us talking?" Blaine tentatively inquired. Kurt shook his head, smiling impishly at Blaine as he answered, "Not at all; we have an 'open' relationship. I would never stand in the way if he met somebody, and the converse is true, as well." He reached out, covering Blaine's hand with his own as he quietly asked, "Do your friends know that you're gay?"

Blaine looked down and shook his head, softly replying, "No. I only realized it recently, myself," he sheepishly admitted. Kurt, who had figured as much, himself, suggested, "Then you'd best get back before Puck suspects anything. Here's my number," Kurt indicated, slipping a small piece of paper in Blaine's jacket pocket. "Call me when you can. Now, go," he shooed Blaine off, taking the tray with their order and slowly counting to 20 before returning to the table to present them with their libations.

Upon his arrival, Santana greeted Kurt with a devilish grin, explaining, "Puck wants to talk with your boyfriend, again, Kurt. Would you mind bringing him over after he's changed?" Noah looked at Kurt pointedly, remarking, "He doesn't have to change; actually, I'd prefer if he didn't." Kurt did his best to remain stoic, realizing that seeing Rachel close up in a dress would most likely be a dead giveaway to her true gender. Fortunately, Santana unknowingly intervened, stating "Sorry, 'the girls' aren't allowed to mingle when they're in drag. The illusion is better from the stage, and we wouldn't want to spoil that for the audience."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief as he headed back to the dressing room, where Elliot was busy distracting "April Showers" (another of the performers) as Rachel hastily stepped into her street clothes. Kurt moved behind the screen, discretely whispering "Your 'friend' is requesting another audience." She fastened her trousers, commenting, "I figured he would." Kurt helped her on with her jacket; she adjusted the shirt collar and tied her ascot, straightened up and asked, "How do I look?" While Kurt thought "_Like a lamb to the slaughter_," he said, "You look great, 'Ruben'. Are you _sure_ you wanna do this?"

Rachel smiled shakily, admitting (barely above a whisper), "I have mixed feelings, Kurt. I'm afraid of being discovered and losing our jobs. But…I'm attracted; I want to know him better." She took one last look in the mirror, smoothing her hair back, and then (in a normal voice) asked, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Santana and Noah were filling Blaine in on their plans and Lucille had not yet returned when Kurt and Rachel approached the table. Noah seemed to sense her nearing presence and looked up, cocking his left eyebrow and smiling rakishly when they drew close. "Please, have a seat," he invited. The two chairs between Noah and Blaine were empty; Kurt realized that it would be more prudent to sit next to Noah, but before he could take that chair, Noah looked at Rachel, indicating, "Mr. Berry, won't you sit here?" gesturing to the place next to him.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and confidently sat down, careful to keep both feet on the floor and her hands in her lap. "I enjoyed your performance tonight, Mr. Berry," Noah complimented Rachel, who interjected, "Ruben, please…" Noah found this immensely amusing, chuckling as he acquiesced, "OK, Ruben, then. Kern is one of my favorite composers, and you chose two of his best current songs."

Rachel smiled gently, doing her best not to blush, replying, "Thank you Mr…er…Puck." Rachel was on high alert, waiting for the conversation to turn. As suspected, she didn't have too long to wait.

"Before Lucille gets back, there's something I've been wondering about…" Noah began. "How do you know that you don't 'like girls'? Have you ever been with a woman?" He addressed nobody in particular, simply put the question out. Santana was grinning from ear to ear and Blaine looked intently at Kurt, who began to speak first.

"Well, actually, my dad took me to a 'cat house' for my 21st birthday," he confessed, a half-smile formed on his lips. "He was worried that I hadn't had a proper girlfriend and thought it would give me the push I supposedly needed. It was interesting," he admitted, "but it only cemented my true feelings. I never told him that, though; he seemed so pleased about the whole thing."

Eyes turned to Rachel, who stammered out, "N…no, I've never been intimate with a woman," looking hopelessly at Kurt, hoping he would cover for her loss of words. Before he had a chance, Noah volunteered with a smirk, "Well, then, perhaps I can help. There's a little place a few blocks from here…"

"Oh, no, I really couldn't," Rachel protested, desperately attempting to hide her fear. Noah grinned evilly at her, taunting her "_Velkh are`du moyre hobn fun, Ruben? Efsher yener der emes vel aroyskumen?"_

"Rachel rolled her eyes, exclaiming "_Du bist incorrigible! Es iz faran neyn emes keyn aroyskumen, Puck. Vvelkh ton ikh hob keyn ton keyn bakumen oys keyn`du?_"

While the others' eyes bounced back and forth between Noah and Rachel as if they were at a tennis match, Noah looked Rachel squarely in the eyes and offered the ultimatum, "_Kumen mit mir tsu dem heizel, Ruben._"

Kurt could sense Rachel's mounting frustration and fully understood her trepidation. He intervened, coaxing her, "Just go with him, Ruben; it's no big deal. I'll get the address and pick you up after my shift is over." He smiled softly, attempting to lighten the mood as he added, "Who knows; maybe you'll like it, and I'll have to find a new boyfriend."

Blaine sat up a little straighter upon hearing that remark, his mouth turned up ever so slightly at the thought of Kurt being "free". Santana noticed his reaction, an impish expression on her face as she thought "_I can spot 'em a mile away, that's for sure._" Fortunately for Blaine, Noah was fixated on Rachel, looking for the slightest waiver in her demeanor, and he took no notice of his friend's reaction.

Noah glanced at his watch, then turned to Rachel, calmly stating, "Are you coming, Ruben?" Rachel looked at Kurt, who nodded his head slightly. Rachel swallowed, gathered her composure, and replied (with as much bravado as she could muster), "Yes. Where, may I ask, are we going?"

Noah was surprised that she had taken the bait. He'd fully expected a breakdown, complete with tearful confession. He had to give it to this woman; she certainly had chutzpah…in spades. He shook his head slightly, clearing it of any doubt that he might possibly be wrong, before answering her, "'The Choir Room'; it belongs to a friend of a friend of mine."

"You must have some interesting friends, Puck," Rachel commented sardonically. Noah stood up, turning to Rachel, who then arose, pushing in her chair. Before they left, Noah reminded Blaine, "Blaine, you'll see to it that Lucille arrives home safely?" Blaine nodded his head in agreement and the couple left the table. Noah fought the urge to take Rachel's elbow and guide her; if she was going to keep up the pretense, he'd certainly play along.

Kurt returned to his duties to finish his shift, and shortly thereafter, Lucille and Dani rejoined the group. Lucille's face was flushed and she was clearly more than a little intoxicated, in contrast to Dani's mask of bored sophistication (and apparent relative sobriety). "Oh, Santana, your friends are keen; I really like them!" Lucille gushed. "_Keen_?" Santana sarcastically replied, smirking at the young woman's naivety. "Yeah, definitely," Lucille confirmed with a giggle. "There's a beauty salon called 'Veil of Violets' they told me about that sounds 'tres élégante'. I'll have to ring them up and make an appointment."

Santana chuckled at Lucille's admission; she knew that the salon catered to the lesbian community. She glanced over at Dani, who leaned in and whispered "That one isn't as innocent as she looks, San. It sounds like the girls she went to school with kept each other 'satisfied', if you catch my drift…time will tell…" Santana shrugged delicately, kissing Dani on the cheek before returning her focus to the conversation at hand.

Lucille glanced around the table, suddenly pouting, "What happened to Puckiekins?" "Puck had another appointment, Lucille," Blaine explained. "I'll see that you get home safely; don't worry." Lucille plopped into the nearest chair, clearly disturbed. "I _thought_ I saw him leaving with that Ruben guy," she confessed. "I don't know what it is…" Lucille sighed, a disheartened expression marring her delicate features. "Puckiekins is practically obsessed with that boy; do you think he's turning into a 'fairy'?" she inquired, hopeful that Blaine would disagree.

"Lucille, I don't think that's the case, so you needn't worry," Blaine attempted to console her. Lucille brightened up considerably, commenting, "Well that's good. He's _practically_ my boyfriend…not that my Daddy would approve…but that's neither here nor there…"

Blaine shook his head; he knew that Noah harbored no feelings toward Lucille. Aside from the fact that she was his friend's girl, she was too vacuous for Noah to take seriously, even for a brief liaison. She was correct on one point, though; Noah was definitely fixated on one "Ruben" Berry.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: "Yesterdays" and "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" are from the musical "Roberta"; music by Jerome Kern, lyrics by Otto Harbach.

As I mentioned previously, I don't speak Yiddish. It just seems amusing to me that they would go into their own bubble and bicker back and forth.

Velkh are`du moyre hobn fun? - What are you afraid of?

Efsher yener der emes vel aroyskumen? - Maybe that the truth will come out?

Du bist incorrigible! - You are incorrigible! (I had to throw that one in ;-)).

Es iz faran neyn emes keyn aroyskumen. - There is no truth to come out.

Vvelkh ton ikh hob keyn ton keyn bakumen oys keyn`du? – What do I have to do to prove it to you?

Kumen mit mir tsu dem heizel - Come with me to the whorehouse.

Apparently violets are a symbol for lesbians. "Veil of Violets" is the name of a color of paint. Actually, I think I would like my next job to be naming paint. Next time you're in Home Depot, check out the paint colors... ;-)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**Author's Note**: Since the name "Brittany" didn't come into use in America until the 1970's, I am altering "Brittany Susan" to "Betty Sue", a more historically appropriate name. Suffice it to say, it's the same character.

* * *

Rachel and Noah walked the short distance from the club to the brothel in comparative silence, save for the sounds of the bustling city around them. Neither had felt such a strong connection to a relative stranger, and both were at a loss as to what to do about it. Rachel worried over how long she could keep her charade going, and what the ramifications would be when the truth was revealed. Would he accept her for the person she truly was or, having proved his point, laugh in her face and turn away?

Noah, still convinced that 'Ruben' was a woman, contemplated how to best orchestrate her unmasking, as well as how soon after he would take her to his bed. There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind, though; what if he was mistaken? He quickly disregarded it; after all, he wouldn't have such an intense attraction to another man…would he?

They came to a stop at the entrance to a nondescript brownstone; only a small sign projecting out from the wall next to the door advertising "The Choir Room" was proof that they had arrived at their destination. Noah announced, "Here we are!" but before they ascended the stairs, Rachel nervously asked, "Um…Puck…who do I pay?"

Noah smirked as he replied, "Don't worry about it, old man; it's on me." Rachel quickly responded "Don't be silly, Puck, I can take care of it." He reacted to her insistence with a chuckle, reassuring her "I insist, Berry; consider it my Bar Mitzvah gift to you."

They headed up the stairs toward the door, Rachel turned to Noah, inquiring, "Why is it called 'the Choir Room'?" A still-smirking Noah cocked his left eyebrow, and replied, "Mercedes swears that her girls are so skilled that when you 'come', you'll sing their praises to the heavens." Rachel looked down in embarrassment as Noah chuckled lightly and rang the buzzer.

A pretty girl answered the door. She wore a flaming red teddy trimmed in black lace under a short red kimono-styled robe that flowed back in the breeze, revealing her slim shape and minimal attire. Rachel averted her eyes, not knowing quite where to look, and Noah greeted her "Hey, Sugar! Where's Mercedes?"

Sugar took Noah by the hand and led them down a short corridor, turning right into the parlor. She dropped his hand, and as she walked away, he slapped her ass playfully, setting her into a fit of giggles. Rachel, her emotions a mixture of embarrassment and jealousy, momentarily looked away.

Having not known what to expect, she was relieved by what she saw as they entered the room. Her imagination had painted a garish picture of red walls and over-stuffed gilded furniture holding seedy people performing depraved sex acts for all to see (and participate in). What she encountered was a tastefully decorated parlor with a piano in the corner that was currently being played by a well-dressed man in a wheelchair. The women were scantily clad, to be sure, but their behavior wasn't overtly sexual, merely friendly and (for lack of a better term) familiar, and the room was permeated by a mix of popular music, conversation, and laughter.

Holding court on a cream colored settee was a curvaceous Black woman, apparently not much older than herself, snuggled up next to a good-looking blonde man whose face lit up when he saw Noah. "Hey, Puck," the man called out, "what brings you here tonight? Lookin' for a little 'companionship?'

Noah grinned, replying, "Not for me, Sam; for my friend, Ruben, here," thumping Rachel on the back with enough force that, although it wouldn't phase another man, nearly knocked Rachel over. She looked at Noah disdainfully, causing him to retort, "Backing out, old man?"

Rachel pulled herself to her full height, replying as confidently as she could muster, "Of course not, Puck." Noah cocked his eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. "Who would you recommend, Mercedes? It's his first time, you see…" Mercedes smiled knowingly, kissing Sam on the cheek and momentarily extricating herself from his arms. She stood up and began walking among the room, mentally sizing up the girls as to who would be an appropriate guide for a young man's first sexual encounter. She stopped by a tall blonde; they had a brief conversation, and then the two women came over to Rachel and Noah.

"Gentlemen, this is Betty Sue. I think you'll 'enjoy her company', Mr…err…" All eyes were on Rachel as she hastily replied, "Berry, ma'am; Ruben Berry." Betty Sue linked her arm with Rachel's; she smiled gently, leading Rachel away. Rachel looked back at Noah, who advised her (with just the _slightest_ hint of irony in his voice) to "Have fun, buddy! I'll see you later."

As the "couple" faded from view, Mercedes focused her attention on Noah, teasing, "So, Puck, see anything you like?" Amused by her question, he laughed as he replied, "Of course, Mercedes, what's not to like? Tonight's about Ruben, though, so if it's all the same, I'm just gonna visit."

"I see you managed to free yourself from Lucille," Sam sardonically commented as Mercedes rejoined him, snuggling in as he placed his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah," Noah agreed, "Blaine's gonna make sure she gets home tonight." Noah considered briefly before remarking, "Honestly, Sam, I don't get why you're keeping company with that woman; she's 'nuttier than a fruitcake'!'

Sam chuckled, teasingly drawing Mercedes a little closer as he replied, "We've known each other, well, practically since diapers; our families expect it, even if we both have other ideas…at least, _I_ do." He grinned, kissing Mercedes on the cheek before continuing, "Apparently, Jesse St. James has been slithering around, lately, and Lucille is a sucker for flattery, so I figure it's only a matter of time before they're an 'item' and I'm a free man."

The look of confusion on Noah's face prompted Sam to explain, "He's a police detective with a law degree and political aspirations, and his eye's on the Assistant District Attorney's office. With a big 'butter and egg man' like Russell Fabray bankrolling his campaign and a kitten like Lucille on his arm, he's a shoe-in." As the conversation continued, Noah found himself tuning it out, wondering just what was going on upstairs…

* * *

Heading up the stairs to the next level, the woman introduced herself, "Hi! I'm Betty Sue…first time, huh?" Rachel sheepishly nodded her head, to which the woman reassuringly replied, "That's OK honey; we all gotta start sometime. I'll go easy on ya'." Rachel gingerly smiled, thinking to herself, "_Lady, you don't know the __half__ of it…_"

They stopped at a room and Betty Sue opened the door with a key, explaining, "We each have our own rooms. We keep them locked; that way, nothing's stolen, and none of the 'johns' get any ideas about sneaking back in." The room was clean and modestly decorated; again, not the den of debauchery that Rachel had anticipated. Only a boudoir doll in a ruffled dress and a very large tabby cat grooming itself on the bed lent a personalized touch to the space.

"That's Lord Tubbington, my cat," Betty Sue explained. "I'll put him in his own bed now, and I promise he won't watch or take any notes." Rachel looked oddly at the girl, but Betty Sue seemed so sincere that she decided to disregard the remark. After removing the cat and placing him on a cushion under the window, Betty Sue sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her. "Come over here, honey," she invited Rachel with a soft smile. Rachel tentatively inched her way to the bed, eventually perching herself on the edge, as if she would take off at a moment's notice. "Relax, baby; don't be scared," Betty Sue coaxed her, placing her hand delicately on Rachel's thigh. "This won't hurt; and I'll make sure you have a good time."

Betty Sue leaned in and kissed Rachel softly on the lips. Although Rachel didn't feel a physical reaction, she returned the kiss. Betty Sue moved closer, unbuttoning Rachel's jacket and loosening her ascot. As the kissing escalated in intensity, Betty Sue's tongue attempted entry to Rachel's mouth. Rachel immediately ceased, backing away with a look of abject horror in her frightened eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Sorry, baby," Betty Sue apologized, "we can take it a little slower. Haven't you ever had a French kiss before?" Rachel's head hung down as she reluctantly shook it, signifying that she had not. "That's OK, honey; don't be shy," Betty Sue attempted to comfort her, patting her gently on the thigh. "If you relax, I'm sure you'll _really_ enjoy it." She leaned in to restart their foreplay, and Rachel suddenly realized that if she didn't speak up, the truth would be revealed in short order, regardless.

"Um…Betty Sue, there's something I have to tell you, first," Rachel's confession began. "What's that, handsome?" Betty Sue replied flirtatiously; by now, she thought she had "heard it all" and figured whatever fears this man held, she'd be able to alleviate in short order.

Rachel looked earnestly into Betty Sue's eyes, ensuring that she had her attention. "Well, it's like this," she began with a deep sigh; "I lost my job as a teacher and ran out of money. My roommates got me a job singing. The only thing was," she paused briefly, lowering her voice to just above a whisper, "I had to pretend I was a man. I'm a woman, Betty Sue, not a man. My name's _Rachel_, not _Ruben_."

Betty Sue's eyes were as big as saucers, and Rachel hastily implored, "Please, _please_, don't say anything. I'll lose my job, and so will my roommates. I was so broke I had to sell my hair; that was the catalyst for this farce in the first place." By this time, silent tears fell down Rachel's face, her pleading eyes looking to Betty Sue for assurance that her secret would remain intact.

Betty Sue took Rachel's hands in hers, confiding, "I understand…well, mostly. I never set out to be a prostitute, ya' know." Betty Sue looked inquisitively at Rachel, who nodded her head in response. "My cousin Sugar and I had a Vaudeville act; we called ourselves 'the Troubletones'. We danced pretty well, but our singing wasn't that great. Two years ago, things had pretty much dried up, and the few bookings we could get were in Burlesque houses. We'd met Mercedes on the road a few years back…she was part of a Gospel group, 'Faith, Hope, Charity, and Mercy'…she was 'Mercy'. Sugar heard that she'd inherited this 'business' from her aunt, and we were desperate." It was now Betty Sue's turn to sigh and wipe a tear that ran down her cheek.

"Believe me, I'd rather be singing and dancing…well, doing just about anything else…but we have food to eat and a roof over our heads. Mercedes runs a clean place, and some of her best customers are cops, so they turn a blind eye to the whole thing. Did ya' see that guy at the piano?" she softly inquired, watching Rachel nod her head before continuing, "That's Artie Abrams…_Sergeant_ Artie Abrams. He was shot in the line of duty. Anyway, the job's not ideal, but it'll do for now." She smiled shyly at Rachel, concluding, "Don't worry, I'll keep your secret."

Rachel exhaled deeply, releasing the breath she hadn't realized that she was holding. "Thank you, Betty Sue; I can't tell you how much I appreciate this." Betty Sue smiled, confirming, "Don't give it a second thought, hon." She looked inquisitively at Rachel, inquiring, "Rachel, why doesn't Puck know? Is it because of your job?" Rachel blushed deeply in response, nodding her head shyly.

"Oh, my gosh, you _like_ him!" she exclaimed. Rachel sighed, admitting, "You're right, I do like him…a lot. He's convinced that I'm really a woman, and, at this point, I'm in too deep. If he finds out now, I'll just be a joke to him, and he'll be all full of himself because he was right."

"He seems pretty full of himself already," Betty Sue observed. "Well, aren't most men?" Rachel sardonically replied as both women dissolved into a fit of giggles. Once recovered, Rachel explained, "This is the only way I can keep my job _and_ my roommates' jobs; at least for now. In the meantime, maybe I can get to know Puck better, too."

"Good luck, Rachel," Betty Sue commented. "And, don't worry," she added, "Your secret's safe with me. Do ya' mind if I ask a favor?" she queried. "Of course not, Betty Sue; name it," Rachel offered. "If you hear of anybody looking for dancers, will you let me know?"

"I will," Rachel avowed. "How do I get in touch with you?" Betty Sue took a card off the night stand, handing it to Rachel, explaining, "Mercedes had these printed up." Rachel examined the card, which contained no information except for the phone number. She tucked it into the breast pocket of her jacket, tapping lightly on the pocket and nodding. "Should we be getting back, yet?" she asked.

Betty Sue glanced at her wristwatch, commenting, "We have a half hour left. I know you're not into girls or anything, but we could neck a little. You kiss very nice, you know." She grinned impishly at Rachel, continuing, "If you want, you can pretend that I'm Puck. Or…we could play cards."

Rachel smiled tiredly, acknowledging, "Thanks, Betty Sue. I appreciate the offer, but if it's all the same to you, do you play gin rummy?"

* * *

Approximately an hour after Rachel had reluctantly left, she and Betty Sue returned, arms wrapped around each other. When they approached Noah and Sam (and now Kurt and Blaine, as well), Rachel and Betty Sue turned their faces to each other and kissed; although it was not a "deep" kiss, it was more intimate than a simple "peck" on the lips.

"You'll call me, 'lover'?" Betty Sue teasingly asked Rachel. "It was fun, Betty Sue, thanks, but, as I told you, I have a boyfriend," Rachel politely explained. "Well, you have my number if you change your mind…" Betty Sue reminded Rachel with a wink. She turned her focus to Noah, who was staring at the couple, his face conveying both shock and disbelief. Kurt, on the other hand, had to turn away to compose himself before he broke down in hysterical laughter.

"Thanks, Puck," Betty Sue addressed Noah directly, "You'd be proud of your friend, here," she admitted with a sly grin. She kissed Rachel on the cheek, they released their arms, and, with a sexy tone to her voice, said "Bye, 'lover'."

Rachel sat down next to Kurt, kissed him on the temple, and introduced him: "Betty Sue, this is my boyfriend Kurt Hummel; Kurt, this is Miss Betty Sue Pierce." They exchanged greetings, Kurt placing his arm around Rachel's shoulders in the process.

"So, how was it, honey?" Kurt politely inquired with all the self-restraint he could muster. "It was nice, Kurt, but not like when I'm with you," she admitted with a sly grin. "I am a little tired, though. Do you mind if we go home?"

Rachel and Kurt stood up together, facing their friends. Blaine's firmly set mouth and emotionless eyes were his best attempt to mask his jealousy. Fortunately, all eyes were on Noah, who was unable to disguise the extreme incredulity he obviously felt. "Why such a _farbissina punim, _Puck?" Rachel teased._ "_Seriously, if you don't watch out, your face'll freeze like that; didn't your bubbe ever warn you? Oh," she paused, winking at him, "thanks again for the belated Bar Mitzvah present. 'Night, folks!"

Rachel and Kurt vacated the building arm-in-arm. As soon as they were down the block, between bursts of hearty laughter, Kurt commented, "Rachel, I never knew you had it in you. One day, they're gonna name a theater after you. That was _some performance_!"

Rachel bowed mockingly, replying, "Thank you Kurt. We should really thank Betty Sue; she agreed to keep my secret. She's a nice girl, Kurt," Rachel admitted, adding, "I hope I'll be able to return the favor some day."

* * *

**Author's Note** : Farbissina punim – sour face


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note**: Hi, guys! Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been transitioning to a new PC and it's been more drama-filled than I would have believed possible. Adding insult to injury, I fell today and fractured my left wrist. This note is courtesy of my right hand only.

In any case, as soon as I get the green light to use my left hand, I'll replace this with a new chapter.

Thank you for your patience.

Take care,

"ra"


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